Manorexic
by kc404duh
Summary: The Malfoys have always been very clear as to what they hold in high regard, such as wealth and blood purity, but as Pansy and Blaise found out in July of last year, there are some values which leave deeper impressions than even a Dark Mark.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi, guys. :) Finally, the story I mentioned at the end of After Effect. It is, indeed, darker than anything else I've written, and it delves into pretty serious issues as well, namely eating disorders. If that is a problem for anyone, or if there is any chance of relapse or trigger, I recommend **not **reading this. I don't want to be responsible for anything like that. I've gone through my fair share of the struggle, which is where I've gotten my background knowledge, and I am at a place where I feel comfortable writing about these things in a detached perspective._

_This is not, as I had planned, complete as I am posting this, although it is planned out in its entirety and already halfway done. I'm not going to say how many chapters, because things change, as most of you well know. Especially when it comes to me. ;) For now, there shouldn't be any worries. It'll definitely get finished. I plan on updating every four days._

_Special thanks to _SlythERindoR_, who has semi-beta'd each chapter. You're lovely._

_As an additional, yet no less important, note, I would like to point out that the title of this piece of fiction—_Manorexic_—is an ambiguous word, and no offense is meant by its use. I will go more into depth in the story, but I wanted to make an initial note of saying that._

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. ****

****Manorexic  
><strong>**_Chapter One _

Pansy walked into the Great Hall mid-breakfast on a Tuesday morning and made a beeline for Blaise, who did not look particularly thrilled to be awake at the present. Goyle sat alone a short ways down, looking lost and confused without a co-idiot or a blond leader from whom to take direction. She sat down directly across from Blaise, snapping at a few younger students to clear out so she had room to do so. Blaise did not acknowledge her presence.

"Blaise," she said shortly. He looked up from his untouched plate of food without moving his head. "Are you unconcerned with Draco's whereabouts?" Blaise laid his fork down carefully and linked his fingers on the table.

"He told me he was going to sleep in and miss breakfast."

While someone else might not have noticed, Pansy didn't miss the underlying tone of worry in Blaise's voice. She relaxed minimally at the knowledge that Draco's behavior had not eluded him.

"You let him?"

Blaise glared at her before looking back down at his plate of food, seemingly contemplating his next words. Apparently, they didn't come quickly enough for Pansy.

"You should have dragged him out of—"

"It's one day, Parkinson," Blaise growled, staring intently at his food. "One _meal_—"

"You know _goddamn _well it's not just one meal," said Pansy, her mouth turned into a deep frown. Blaise chanced a glance at her before looking blankly over her right shoulder. "He hasn't been eating. Don't act like you haven't noticed."

"I haven't," he said, much too quickly. Pansy raised an eyebrow and Blaise threw the napkin from his lap down onto the table before proceeding to storm out of the Great Hall, Pansy in tow.

"How can you let this go?" she said once the Great Hall doors had shut behind them. Blaise began the descent into the dungeons, only managing to fuel Pansy's fire. She jogged to catch up to him and spun him around by his arm.

"He's fine!" he yelled, throwing her off. She merely folded her arms and glared at him. "Hop off his dick, Pansy! You can't throw a fit every time he skips a bloody meal! He's skinny! He's not always hungry!"

"How can you say that?" she hissed, and for a moment she thought about kicking Blaise right in the groin. "After the shit we went through with him these past two years. You can see his ribs, Blaise."

Blaise paled for a moment and looked away. Pansy was breathing heavily, thoroughly irritated by Blaise's shallow attempts at pretending like nothing was wrong.

"How do you know?" he said after a moment. Pansy frowned.

"Because I was in your dorm with him yesterday and he changed his shirt."

Blaise folded his arms across his chest and looked down.

"I know," he said quietly. "I've noticed."

"Then _why_, pray tell, didn't you _force_him out of bed this morning?"

"Because you know he doesn't work like that!" Blaise said desperately. "If I'd even _hinted _that I was thinking about that he'd have shut me out completely for who the hell knows how long!"

"Well, you can't just ignore it!" Pansy pressed her palms into her eyes and sighed. "Merlin, why does he have to _do _this?"

"Because he's sick, Pansy!" Blaise dropped his arms and laughed humorlessly. "For fuck's sake, he thinks he's _fat_."

"But I thought we'd gotten past that!" Pansy felt on the verge of tears. She was frustrated beyond words. How could this be happening again? She'd thought that, after the breakthrough she and Blaise had had with Draco back in July, things were finally beginning to heal. Draco had slowly begun eating again until, when they'd gone back to Hogwarts for a makeup seventh year in September, it had hardly been an issue anymore.

At least, that's what Pansy had _thought_.

But for a few weeks now she'd been seeing those signs again. The signs she'd become accustomed to in sixth year when everything had hit rock bottom for Draco. He'd periodically miss meals, giving them odd excuses for his absences, and when he _was_there he'd eat very little, claiming to have eaten before.

And then there were the bathroom breaks immediately afterwards. Bathroom breaks he'd come back from looking pasty and shaken.

"I don't know, Pansy," said Blaise, shaking his head. "Maybe we dropped it sooner than we should have. I mean, how can someone just get better in two months?"

Pansy leaned heavily against a wall and took a deep breath.

"So you think he's still been doing it this whole time?" she whispered. Blaise shrugged. "It's February. It's_February_, Blaise. And I've only _just _started noticing him not eating again in the past few weeks. You think he's been puking since September behind our backs?"

"I don't fucking know, do I?"

"This is serious!" Pansy shouted. "You must have caught onto his more frequent bathroom breaks recently! Why now? Why didn't we notice before!"

"Maybe he's getting sloppy! I don't know, Pansy!"

"The hell are you two yelling about?"

Both Pansy and Blaise spun around to find Draco walking toward them, one eyebrow raised in polite annoyance. Pansy stole a quick glance at Blaise, who had momentarily shut his eyes, presumably in order to compose himself.

"Nothing," Pansy assured him, plastering a smile onto her face. "Blaise is a prat." She saw Draco look at Blaise, but Blaise wouldn't catch his eye. Draco looked back to her in question. "It's fine. It doesn't concern you. Are you ready for class?"

Draco scoffed and readjusted the bag on his shoulder. Pansy noted, not for the first time, how frightfully thin Draco's wrists were.

"Yes," he drawled, "I'm positively itching to get to Charms."

"We have a test today," she said as they made their way back up to the entrance hall and ascended the marble staircase that led to the classrooms. Students had begun filing out of the Great Hall and the three Slytherins were jostled by students trying to get to class.

"Wonderful," said Draco, eyeing something ahead of them distastefully. Pansy followed his gaze and landed, predictably, on the Golden Trio, waiting outside the Charms classroom and chatting to other students.

"You're not prepared?" Blaise asked, speaking for the first time since they'd run into Draco in the dungeons.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Pansy shot Blaise a pointed look behind Draco's back, one which he determinedly ignored. Draco had always been fairly competitive when it came to classes and exams. It was only a mark of the state of things that he didn't seem to care.

"You know, you should be taking this more seriously," Pansy said quietly to Draco, not meeting his eyes in case he decided to lash out at her. He'd been particularly sensitive lately.

_Probably because he's not eating_, she thought wearily.

He didn't say anything but Pansy could feel his cold gaze on her, ready to snap should she look up. She did so tentatively.

"It's not as though it matters," he said sharply, and then he looked away. Pansy heard Blaise laugh mirthlessly and tensed.

"Just because both your parents are _dead_ and you've inherited the entire Malfoy fortune, _Draco_, doesn't mean you can slack off—" Blaise began nastily but was cut off when Draco shoved him in the chest, only managing to make Blaise lose his footing for a moment.

"Shut your filthy mouth about my parents, Zabini!" Draco shouted, and his voice was a bit hoarse.

Pansy grabbed his arm and tried to talk sense into him but he wasn't listening. His frail body was trembling with fury.

"Blaise, stop it!" Pansy shouted, but Blaise ignored her as well, preferring to glare at Draco instead. She knew it was born from his concern and his anger at Draco for making them worry, and she understood because she hated him for it too, but she also knew this wasn't the way to go about anything.

* * *

><p>Harry had been talking to Seamus when a shout from somewhere close by interrupted him. He turned to find Draco Malfoy glaring at Blaise Zabini, positively shaking with rage, Pansy Parkinson at his side apparently attempting to cool him down. Harry hadn't the slightest clue as to what they were arguing about, but the next thing that came out of Zabini's mouth sounded rather harsh even to him.<p>

"You're one to talk about filthy mouths, aren't you?" he spat, glaring at Malfoy. "Why'd you miss breakfast, Draco? Skipping the meal preferable to puking it back up this early in the morning?"

Harry heard Hermione gasp next to him at the same time that his own eyes went wide in shock.

_What _had he just said?

The corridor watched in silence as Malfoy walked up to Zabini and slapped him across the face before storming away and out of sight. Parkinson was looking at Zabini with tears in her eyes.

"That was really unnecessary," Harry heard her whisper, and then she was running after Malfoy. A few moments later Zabini, too, left, though Harry somehow doubted it was to find the other two.

The hiss of whispers broke out all along the corridor. Harry, however, remained silent, managing only to look at Hermione, who seemed just as stunned into silence as he was.

Ron, however, didn't appear to have any such qualms.

"The hell was that?" he said, looking to Hermione with his eyebrows scrunched. Hermione looked at him and then back at Harry, who shrugged as if to say "Don't look at me."

"I don't think we should be discussing it," said Hermione eventually, looking around at everyone else disapprovingly. "It's none of our business."

"They just had it out in the middle of the hallway," said Ron. "Besides, who cares? It's Malfoy. He has no feelings."

"Ronald!" Hermione glared at him angrily before turning away from both of them. "That is _not _something to be joked about. Now drop it. It's none of our business."

"I don't even know what just happened!" Ron yelled defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "How can I joke about it if I don't even under_stand _it?"

Harry tuned Ron and Hermione out in order to listen in on Lavender and Parvati's conversation nearby.

". . . know he was _bulimic_," Lavender whispered, and Harry thought he could hear a giggle in her voice. "He's always been skinny, hasn't he?"

"Not this skinny," Parvati said excitedly.

"What a scandal." Lavender's eyes went wide and a large smile grew on her face. "Draco Malfoy _anorexic_."

* * *

><p>"That's disgusting." Ron leaned back in one of the chairs in the Gryffindor common room and made a gagging sound. "And just when I thought he couldn't get any worse."<p>

"That is absolutely horrible, Ron," Hermione chided. "If Malfoy really is anorexic that's a serious issue. I hope his friends do something to help him."

"I just don't get where it came from," said Harry, not looking up from the Charms essay he was working on. "I mean, blokes don't usually care that much, do they?"

"Yeah, well, Malfoy's a complete _ponce_. It makes sense."

"Stop it," Hermione said harshly. "We're not talking about this anymore. Besides, we don't know it's true anyway. Lavender is known for starting rumors." Harry finally looked up from his essay and raised a brow.

"Have you seen him, Hermione? He's smaller than you."

"It's none of our business," she said for the umpteenth time, and to emphasize her point she flipped her book open and began taking notes. Ron rolled his eyes and Harry smiled at him before going back to his own homework. He wasn't particularly bothered about Malfoy. It was weird, of course, but it hardly affected Harry. If anything it made sense. Malfoy _was_ too skinny. Had been since sixth year. Harry only wondered why the issue was surfacing _now_. If something like that had afflicted one of _his _friends Harry would have been on top of it from the beginning. But, he supposed, Slytherins would be Slytherins. And it wasn't as though Malfoy had very many friends since the war had ended.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it was the war. Both of Malfoy's parents had been killed. Maybe this was just his way of acting out. It seemed like something Malfoy would do. He was such a little prat.

Harry didn't understand what the big deal was. Malfoy would get over it eventually. He'd give up on making a scene, start eating again, stop puking for attention, and everything would be back to normal. Why did everyone have to make it into such a big ordeal? What Zabini had said had been harsh, sure, but . . . Harry thought the whole thing was being overdone.

"'Mione, can we _please _go to sleep?" Ron whined, slumping in his chair so low that his head was level with the rest of his body. Hermione raised a brow at him and Harry stifled a laugh.

"Have you finished your Charms essay?"

"_Yes_."

"Oh, really." She made to pull Ron's essay over but he snatched it out from under her hand, glaring as though she'd offended him.

"Okay, fine, I haven't finished! But it won't be good anyway because I'm _so tired_!"

"Fine, go to bed," she said, bending once more over the book from which she was taking notes. "But don't come crying to me when you don't have it done for Thursday."

Ron looked at Harry with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"Coming, Harry?"

Harry looked down at his own half-finished essay and pursed his lips in thought. He _really_didn't feel like writing this at the moment. He knew Hermione would give him that disapproving look, but right now he just couldn't be bothered to care. With a heavy sigh he stood up and packed his things away, smiling at Ron's triumphant punch in the air.

"I can't believe you two," said Hermione. "These are our _N.E.W.T.s_."

"We'll be _fine_," Ron assured her. "See you in the morning."

"'Night," she said curtly.

* * *

><p>Draco stood in front of the large mirror in the Prefects' bathroom, his shirt and trousers lying forgotten near the tub. He was clad only in his pants and they hung precariously low on his lips, managing to stay up only because of his protruding hip bones. There was significant space between the elastic of the boxers and his stomach, but Draco didn't notice. He ran a hand over his abdomen, sneering at the sight of himself. He had no definition in his abs. This was due to the fact that he was very nearly emaciated, but that's not what Draco saw.<p>

He pinched his skin and flinched at the sight. _I am so fucking fat_, he thought miserably.

He'd eaten dinner tonight. It was because of what Blaise had said, though he'd never admit to it. He was furious with himself for having messed up so badly. Blaise and Pansy suspected again. He'd done so well hiding it from them since September, if only because he'd been able to eat as long as he purged within the next hour. But in the past few weeks it had become more stressful to eat at meals. It was becoming increasingly difficult to wait any amount of time before puking. And so he'd begun skipping meals more often, giving his friends what he thought were legitimate excuses, and when he _did _eat he went straight to a bathroom afterwards.

But he hadn't realized he'd become so obvious. He'd thought they'd forgotten. After all, Pansy and Blaise had stopped bothering him about it only a few weeks into the school year. It hadn't been nearly enough time. He _had _been trying, albeit not very hard, to work through what Pansy had called his "eating disorder." But when they'd dropped it after only two and a half months he'd gladly gone right back into his old habits. Truthfully, he didn't think he had a problem. _They _had the problem if they didn't realize how badly he needed to lose weight.

His gaze drifted to the toilets and he felt his stomach turn. He'd purged about an hour after dinner, having made the excuse of having to use the loo while he'd been studying with Pansy and Goyle in the Slytherin common room.

But he still felt the food resting heavily in his stomach, and since it was nearly two in the morning and his roommates would hear it if he used their loo, he'd gone up to the Prefects' bathroom.

Draco walked into one of the stalls and knelt down in front of the toilet, assuming a very familiar position. He hunched over the bowl and wasted no time in sticking two fingers down his throat, prodding the back roughly until he felt himself gagging, and even then he didn't stop. He continued to prod until he felt his stomach heave and only pulled his fingers out when the bile came up.

It was easy now. Purging was routine. When he'd started, back in his sixth year, it had been much more difficult. Well, in all honesty, he'd tried earlier than that, as early as third year, but it had never worked until sixth. Draco thought it was probably because of all the stress sixth year. Refusing to eat and purging became a sense of control that he'd had nowhere else in his life. He'd started out using paper towels and toilet paper and toothbrushes. It had taken a while to be able to keep anything down there when he began to heave, but once he'd mastered that it had become much easier, until he didn't even need those things anymore. Just his hand.

It wasn't only about the control, though—it never had been until sixth year. For as long as he could remember Draco's parents had been very focused on looks. When he was younger his father would make snide comments about his body and wonder aloud why parents hadn't complained about the food at Hogwarts if it was doing _this_to their children. His mother hadn't been any better, always telling him to remember to suck in his tummy.

He thought about this as he remained bent over the toilet bowl, arms resting on the seat as he breathed heavily. They were dead now and Draco hated himself for having let them down in so many ways. He'd let them down as a fellow Death Eater, a son, and a Malfoy. Malfoys were beautiful, they'd always told him. But Draco knew he wasn't beautiful. He was disgusting.

* * *

><p>Lately, Harry had been waking up around one in the morning and was never able to fall back asleep. He'd taken to wandering the halls of Hogwarts for a while to tire out his body, and sometimes that worked, but most of the time it only wasted an hour.<p>

Tonight was no different. He'd woken up at a quarter past one, but it was only at two that he finally gave in, hastily grabbed his Cloak, and headed down to the common room. By the time he made it to the portrait he'd already decided on his destination; perhaps a dip in the Prefects' tub would help to calm him enough so that he could sleep.

He didn't run into Filch or Mrs. Norris on his way down, and by the time he was pushing the door open and walking inside he really hadn't a thought in the world except the hot bath he was about to take and which bubble solution he'd use.

He'd just put his wand down and was beginning to toe off his trainers when he heard a door creak. He didn't even have to time to snatch his wand before none other than Draco Malfoy walked out into the open, clad only in his boxers. Harry felt his mouth open in surprise but he couldn't seem to do anything about it. What he was seeing—it looked like something out of a horror film. Malfoy's spine was clearly visible along the length of his back and Harry could see the vertebrae shifting beneath the skin when he moved. His ribs were visible, as well, and his hip bones. It wasn't in an entirely attractive way, either, although Harry had to admit he could tell that, were Malfoy in better shape, he would have a mouth-watering V. The V had been one of those things that had convinced Harry, back when he'd been struggling with his sexuality, that he really _was _gay. Blokes' hip bones just sent him wild—he hadn't the slightest clue why.

This, though, was unhealthy. He wondered vaguely why he'd never noticed before. Seeing it now, it looked as though one would be able to tell even when Malfoy had clothes on. But apparently not, because had Harry not been seeing this right now, he wouldn't have believed it was this bad.

It was as Malfoy grabbed his shirt and stood up that he noticed another presence, and he quickly used the shirt to cover himself.

"Potter!" he yelled, and Harry was almost startled to hear that normal, snarky voice come out. Harry shook his head, coming to himself and finding that his mouth had gone dry.

"I—sorry, I just . . . I—"

"What!" Malfoy spat, quickly tugging his shirt on and then his denims, a patch of color rising on his cheeks. The horribly skinny body was effectively covered up, but Harry felt like that image was burned into his retinas forever. And worse than that was the dawning realization that was slowly creeping into Harry's consciousness.

Harry tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat but it wouldn't seem to go away. He watched silently as Malfoy walked up to him and stopped. Harry knew he was staring, knew how obvious it was that he suspected what Malfoy had just done—but he couldn't seem to stop.

Earlier in the day it hadn't really registered. When Zabini had said those things about Malfoy—about him deliberately throwing up his food and refusing to eat—it hadn't really occurred to Harry that it was actually happening. Now, though. . . . Now he was faced with the aftermath of such an incident only minutes after the fact. He felt his stomach lurch as he realized Malfoy had literally just been kneeling over a toilet bowl with his fingers down his throat, puking up whatever food was left in his stomach from the day.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" Malfoy growled. Harry could only manage a feeble shake of his head.

"Nothing," he said quickly. Malfoy sneered at him before apparently deciding to let it go, bumping harshly into Harry's shoulder as he passed him. Harry felt how bony it was and flinched.

Even when the door shut loudly behind him Harry could only continue to stare blankly ahead, still stunned by what he'd seen. Malfoy was hurting himself. Fuck, he was _killing _himself. He nearly looked like a corpse already. Harry found himself wondering how much longer the boy could possibly survive.

He turned the water and bubbles on mindlessly, his thoughts centered entirely on what he'd just seen. He couldn't even bring himself to relax completely when he slipped into the aromatic water.

It was his goddamn hero complex and he knew it. He couldn't see something like that—someone literally _aiding _in their own deterioration—without feeling like he needed to personally get involved. Especially when he'd just had such a close encounter with the problem itself. He began to wonder if he should have said something . . . done something, even. But a small voice, one that rather sounded like Hermione, told him that would have been a terrible idea, and he clung to that, because even though this was someone who was really and truly fucked in the head, it was still Draco Malfoy, the boy who had once been the bane of his existence.

But then he began to wonder _why_ Malfoy was doing this. Earlier he'd pinned it on the war, but . . . this just seemed so much deeper than Harry had previously thought. It felt less like a temper tantrum and more like an issue that had roots in several places. He just didn't know what they were. And that part of him that hadn't reared its ugly head since sixth year—the part of him that was, for whatever reason, obsessed with Malfoy—desperately wanted to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for reviews, I'm so happy you're all enjoying it so far. :)_

**Manorexic**_  
>Chapter Two <em>

The next day found Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Anthony Goldstein—Harry's boyfriend of two months—sitting in the library doing homework. Well, Hermione and Anthony, at least.

"Wasn't there a rebellion before that? Because of that one Veela? Aglaia?"

"Oh, you're right!" Hermione whispered excitedly, flipping to another page of her notes. "I forgot about that one. It started in 1805, didn't it?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other and broke into mutual grins.

"How did we both manage to find the two craziest people in the school?"

"We're masochistic, clearly," Harry sighed, though he smiled fondly at Anthony as he said it. "At least she has someone to bug besides you and me now, though."

"Amen."

"Oh, you two are really funny," said Anthony, going to touch Harry's neck because he knew how sensitive it was. Harry cringed away, laughing, and swatted at Anthony's hand. "If you're not careful you won't have notes for the next exam."

"Now that's just cruel," Ron lamented.

"Then you'd better stop mourning the fact that you're both dating people who care about school and start using it to your advantage," said Hermione.

"At least Harry knew what he was getting into!" Ron argued. "I mean, you don't date a Ravenclaw and expect anything less."

"First of all," said Hermione sharply, "how long have we known each other? And secondly, it's not as though every Ravenclaw is committed to school. Just because someone is smart doesn't mean they're dedicated."

"It's true," Anthony sighed. "Terry's brilliant, but he just doesn't care enough."

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the library. All four heads turned simultaneously, and when Harry saw that Malfoy was involved he became particularly interested, turning a bit in his seat so he could see better.

"God, Pansy, will you just leave it alone?" Malfoy said loudly. He stood up from his chair and grabbed a book off the table.

"Quiet!" Madam Pince shouted and Malfoy glared at her before looking back to Pansy and haphazardly shoving the book into his bag. Pansy said something too quietly for Harry to hear and he saw Malfoy roll his eyes.

"He can shove his concerns up his arse. _As_can you. Leave it alone." And with that he stormed out of the library, leaving a miserable-looking Pansy in his wake.

Harry and the others turned back to each other and Ron let out a low whistle.

"Did you guys hear what happened yesterday outside the Charms classroom?" Anthony asked.

"We were there," Ron told him. "Zabini really lost it on him."

"I just can't believe it's taken his friends this long to figure it out. I mean, he's a huge git, of course, but that shit's pretty serious."

"You mean you knew?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too interested. Anthony's eyebrows rose into his hairline.

"You didn't? He looks terrible. My sister had an eating disorder for a while, though," he explained. "So I suppose I just know what it looks like. But they're around him all the time. You'd think _they _would have noticed."

"You have a sister?" Ron asked, looking around the library as though she'd appear suddenly.  
>"She's a Muggle," Anthony said with a laugh. "She goes to a Muggle high school. And she had to go to a Muggle rehab, as well."<p>

"Wait." That part of Harry that had been mulling over Malfoy's situation last night was bouncing in its seat at the prospect of talking to someone who had first-hand knowledge about this. "She had to go to rehab? Why?"

"Harry, eating disorders are _really_ serious," said Hermione. He wanted to tell her that _yes_, he knew that, especially after having seen Malfoy last night, but somehow he didn't want to mention that. Not yet. And he still didn't understand what rehab had to do with it. Apparently neither did Ron.

"How would rehab help?" he laughed.

"They monitor them." Anthony sighed and closed his book, probably assuming they were done with studying for the day. "They monitor what they eat, put them through therapy, talk to them about it. Try to figure out why they're doing it. Anorexia is a lot like a drug, actually. It's pretty scary to see someone who's dealing with it. My sister was afraid to eat by the time my parents finally forced her to go to rehab."

"She was _afraid _to eat?" Ron looked absolutely appalled by this information. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"Well, to her it did," Anthony chuckled. "She's better now. That was a few years ago. We still have to look out for her, though."

Harry bit his lip and thought back to Malfoy. He wondered if Malfoy was afraid to eat. Probably not, he reasoned, as Harry _did _see him at meals sometimes. His problem was most likely the throwing up bit.

"But what about puking?" he asked Anthony. "Did your sister do that?"

"No, she wasn't bulimic. The doctors did tell us to watch for that, though. That's the only reason I know about it. Is Malfoy doing that?" He looked at Hermione when he asked this. Hermione shrugged.

"I'm not sure. Zabini seemed to think so. He accused him of it, but it could have just been facetious."

"_That_ is the dumbest thing I have ever heard," Ron said flatly. "Not eating _and _making yourself throw up? It doesn't make sense!"

Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes at Ron.

"Once again, Ron, you are the most empathetic and thoughtful person I know."

"It's hard to understand," Anthony said with a smile. Harry thought briefly that he'd never met someone so amiable, especially whilst speaking about a sibling's issues. "I still can't comprehend the fact that Jenna thought she was fat. But I guess that's why they call it a disease." He shrugged. "I just can't believe Malfoy's a manorexic."

Harry looked back around to where Malfoy and Pansy had been sitting to find that Pansy was no longer there. He sighed and faced his friends once more, wondering why the hell Malfoy had to go and do something like this that Harry couldn't ignore.

When he turned back around he saw Hermione frowning, but waited to ask until the three of them were alone again, walking to Gryffindor Tower.

"You looked upset in the library," he said. Hermione pursed her lips.

"Someone as smart as Anthony shouldn't be using the word 'manorexic'."

"What does that even mean?" Ron asked.

"It's a portmanteau. It comb—"

"A _what_?"

"It combines," Hermione continued, "the word 'man' and 'anorexic'. It's a horrible term. Ignorant people use it to imply that anorexia in men is a joke. Especially the way he used it, calling him '_a_manorexic', as though it's a type of person. It's the same as if I'd called his sister 'an anorexic,' and I bet he wouldn't have liked that. Anthony obviously doesn't realize what it means, or else he's being sexist against his own gender."

"Er—I think he probably just doesn't know that," Harry said, feeling himself blush.

"Yeah, and if he _does_, who cares? It's Malfoy."

Hermione glared at Ron and stormed off ahead of them. Harry looked to him and simultaneously they shrugged.

* * *

><p>Draco was furious. He was furious with <em>himself<em> for having let his guard down and he was furious with _Potter_for being so goddamn sneaky. Why did he always manage to catch Draco at the worst times?

Potter hadn't said more than two words. He'd just stared, like he'd never seen something like it in his life.

Draco slowly crept his hands down his stomach and lifted the hem of his shirt up, exposing his bare chest. He was glad the hangings around his bed were closed and, furthermore, that no one was in the dorm presently.

He pinched his skin and closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears he felt coming. This is what Potter had seen: he'd seen how fat and hideous Draco was. He'd been repulsed by it. Draco tried to tell himself it was only Potter, and who really cared what Potter thought? But he couldn't fool himself. He _did_ care what Potter thought. He always had. And now the stupid Gryffindor had seen his body and he probably thought even less of Draco than he had before. After all, Potter had—Draco grudgingly admitted—a beautiful body. And he hadn't even seen beneath Potter's clothes. One could just _tell _he was built. He wasn't that scrawny little boy who'd shown up in his broken glasses and too-big clothes first year. He was a Quidditch-playing, world-saving celebrity. And he had the body to show for it. Draco didn't delude himself into thinking he'd ever get to touch that (not that he'd necessarily want to, because Potter's horrible personality nearly canceled out his physical attractiveness), but when Potter had come out in the beginning of the year, and then when he'd started dating Anthony Goldstein, Draco had begun to let his mind wander a bit sometimes, especially those times when Potter wouldn't be wearing his school robes and Draco had a perfect view of his biceps.

Draco moved his hands to touch his own arms and sighed when he felt the lack of definition. God, he was so _ugly_.

He heard the door open and quickly pulled his shirt back down and put his arms behind his head, attempting a casual pose. His heart was beating furiously. He'd missed dinner again. He just prayed it was Goyle so that he wouldn't have to make up some dumb excuse.

"Draco."

Draco wanted to kick something. It was Blaise. And although he and Blaise hadn't been on speaking-terms since yesterday, he knew he was about to be interrogated.

"Yes?" he drawled, hoping he sounded less nervous than he felt. He used to be so good at this, at lying and deceiving, but it had gotten harder lately.

The hangings were ripped open and Blaise stared down at him, a mixture of worry and anger playing on his face.

"Why the hell weren't you at dinner?"

"Because I wasn't hungry. I had a big lunch," he lied. "I went down to the kitchen."

Blaise didn't believe it for a second, but he had no proof, and he seemed to know that, because he shook his head at Draco before turning and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, imagining that he was sinking into his bed, into a black hole, and that he wouldn't ever have to come back up and deal with this again.

He wished so desperately that he had that Invisibility Cloak of Potter's right now. How he would have loved to go wander around outside by himself.

He sat up in bed and scrunched his eyebrows.

"Why the hell can't I?" he said to himself. And then he hastily tugged on his regular cloak and a hat and left the dorm. Pansy and Blaise were sitting in the common room talking to Theodore, who paid Draco very little attention when he saw him. Pansy, on the other hand, swooped on him like a vulture.

"You missed dinner!" she shouted, attracting the stares of most of the common room. Draco glared at her.

"You are such a stupid bitch," he hissed, and used her stunned silence to push past her out of the room. He was glad when he didn't hear footsteps following him and picked up his pace, managing to get to the oak front doors of the castle in the space of five minutes.

A few people were still exiting the Great Hall but they didn't pay Draco any mind. He pushed the doors open and shivered when the cold air hit his face. He hated it. He _hated _the cold. It was biting and felt angry, but he needed it to clear his head. Admittedly, he probably should have worn a heavier cloak, as well as a scarf and gloves, but he'd wanted to get out of there so badly that he hadn't thought about it. Draco sighed as he started off toward the lake, which he liked to look at when it was frozen. It was so very eerie-looking. Even when he was younger he'd loved doing this. The only difference was that now he didn't have a curfew, but even if he had, he supposed, it wouldn't really matter, because he wasn't trying to impress anyone anymore. He didn't need to follow the rules and become a Prefect or Head Boy.

There was a little decaying bench near the edge of the lake and that's where Draco sat down.

He hadn't been there for five minutes when he heard someone shouting, and he identified the voice immediately, groaning when he did so. Did Potter really have to ruin _everything_for him? And what in the world was he saying, anyway?

"Anthony!" he shouted again. Draco rolled his eyes and stood up to face Potter, who, after seeing Draco's face, recoiled in surprise.

"Potter," he drawled. He saw the heat crawl up Potter's face.

"Oh, er—sorry. I thought you were—"

"I'm afraid not," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. He was well aware that he was shivering from the cold and he was determined not to let Potter see. It was a futile effort, though, because he was shaking rather fiercely now and Potter's eyes had already slid down over his body and back up. "Tell me, Potter. How is it that you always manage to turn up and _ruin_ my day? I mean, really. You're the last person I _ever_ want to see, and yet it's always_you_that shows up."

"You're such a prat, Malfoy," Potter grumbled. Draco noticed, however, that some of the usual spite was missing from his tone.

"S-sweet of you," Draco said, inwardly flinching at the tremor in his voice. Potter sighed.

"Malfoy, why the hell aren't you wearing a proper cloak? You're shivering."

"I'm _fine_, Potter," he spat. "Now run along and find your boyfriend before he starts to miss you too much."

Potter rolled his eyes and Draco wanted to punch him in the face.

"Are you staying out here?"

"What the hell do you care?"

Potter huffed and looked around, seemingly uncomfortable.

"You should take my scarf or something, at least," he said quietly, eyes downcast. An instant blush rose on Draco's cheeks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Potter looked up, eyebrows drawn together in irritation.

"No, I wasn't," he said. "But since you're gonna be a prat about it."

"Not only," Draco began slowly, "would I _never_ wear an article of clothing s-sporting Gryffindor colors, but the very prospect of wearing something that b-belongs to _you_is vomit-inducing."

The second he said it he wished he hadn't. Potter blushed furiously and looked down, his angry tirade cut off before it had even started. Draco was mortified. He knew exactly what the stupid Gryffindor was thinking. But the worst part was that he _knew_that Draco knew, and the very last thing Draco wanted from Harry bloody Potter was pity.

"Whatever, Malfoy," he said quietly with a shake of his head. "Have fun freezing to death."

"Thanks, I will!" Draco called at Potter's retreating back. He watched as the other boy walked slowly toward the castle. He stopped about halfway there, however, and after a moment Draco saw Anthony Goldstein, all wrapped up in winter clothes and Ravenclaw colors, go up to Potter and wrap his arms around his neck. Potter had his hands on Goldstein's waist and pulled him close. Draco sneered at the display and turned back toward the lake, hoping they'd go away soon so he could go inside. His teeth were beginning to chatter horribly and the thought of Potter's dumb scarf, probably warm from having been wrapped around his neck, gave Draco an annoying pit in his stomach.

* * *

><p>Harry smiled into the kiss Anthony planted directly on his lips and pulled away.<p>

"I don't understand how you can like the cold," Harry said, grabbing Anthony's hand as they headed off in the opposite direction from which he'd come. "It _hurts_."

Anthony laughed and squeezed his hand.

"I love it. It's perfect for cuddling." He leaned over and placed a kiss on Harry's cheek, earning himself a snort from the other boy.

"You know what else is perfect for cuddling?" Harry stopped them and turned toward Anthony, burying his face in the juncture of Anthony's neck and shoulder. Anthony sucked in a breath and Harry saw goose bumps rise where his breath touched the skin of Anthony's neck. "A _warm_ bed in a _warm _dormitory."

"I suppose that's nice," Anthony breathed. "But I still like the cold."

Harry huffed and pulled away, smiling at him in mock-irritation. They rejoined their hands and continued walking, as Anthony had suggested they do tonight, but Harry's mind was neither entirely on his boyfriend, nor the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts which were currently covered in a thick, fresh layer of snow. In fact, his thoughts were all the way back at the lake with a certain blond Slytherin who was probably dying of Hypothermia by now.

_Merlin_ had he looked bad tonight. Especially with the way he'd been shivering beneath that flimsy coat and hat. He hadn't even been wearing _gloves_, for crying out loud!

Harry's cheeks took on a pinker tint than what the cold had already done when he thought about how he'd offered his scarf to Malfoy. What in the world had he been thinking? Why had he even thought the offer would have been accepted? This was _Malfoy_, not a normal human being! Like Malfoy had said, and which, now that he was thinking clearly, Harry knew he should have guessed, that boy would rather die (probably literally) than wear anything Gryffindor, let alone something that belonged to Harry.

Harry wondered if Malfoy was still dwelling on his reference to vomiting. That had been supremely awkward. Harry just _knew_ Malfoy had been waiting for him to make some kind of nasty remark about it (which of course he hadn't—he wasn't a Slytherin, after all), but, thinking back on it, Harry felt like it may have just been better to have done it. This—this pity, or whatever it was—was strange. It made Harry uncomfortable, mostly because he still didn't know what to do about the situation, but also because a part of him was sure Malfoy would rather Harry treat him like shit than show any kind of worry toward him. But he couldn't just make himself not care! Not after having seen his body in the bathroom, or seeing Malfoy's face when he mentioned vomiting, or the way he'd been literally trembling with cold. The only thing that had kept Harry from taking off his own coat and shoving it over Malfoy's shoulders had been the fact that it _was_ Malfoy. And the negative feelings that went with both the name and the person attached to it were enough to cancel out those gut instincts. Which, Harry thought, was saying something, because he _really _didn't like seeing people in pain.

Well, people who didn't deserve it, at least. And apparently a large enough part of him thought Malfoy did deserve it.

But then _why _had he offered the scarf?

"Harry?"

Harry shook his head to clear away the thoughts and turned to look at Anthony, who was staring at him with an eyebrow raised. The thought that Malfoy did that better than Anthony flitted briefly across his mind before Harry shook his head again as though his thoughts about Malfoy were an irksome fly.

"Sorry, what?"

Anthony smiled at him softly and stopped them again. He moved in front of Harry and placed a gloved hand on his cheek.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, trying to smile reassuringly. Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Really, I am! Anthony, stop worrying," Harry laughed, cupping the other boy's face with his own hands and pecking him on the lips.

"Let's just go inside. You're right, it's pretty cold," said Anthony. Harry smiled gratefully, knowing full well that staying outside was a bad idea, and not only because his ears were beginning to freeze. He'd just keep thinking about Malfoy. This way he and Anthony could go back to one of their dorms and Harry could effectively stop _all_ of his thoughts by fucking his boyfriend through the mattress. Yes, that sounded lovely.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you again, my lovely readers. Your reviews and enthusiasm are very much appreciated. :)_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Three _

Harry was starving. He hadn't eaten lunch because he'd been working on his Charms essay that he'd abandoned Tuesday night and hadn't finished yesterday because he'd been rather busy with Anthony. He was on his way to the Great Hall for dinner when he rounded a corner on the third floor and the sight that greeted him effectively stopped him in his tracks.

A very large boy—Harry squinted and saw a green and silver tie hanging from his neck—had Malfoy pushed up against a wall, one hand beside Malfoy's head and the other fisted in his robes. He was close to Malfoy's face, and had Malfoy not been sneering, Harry would have thought he'd walked in on the two mid-snog. But he _was_sneering, and so Harry stayed where he was, making sure to keep silent.

"You ain't on top no more, Malfoy," the boy growled. "If I was you I wouldn't be making them comments, 'specially lookin' the way you do. I could snap you in half."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. We speak English here, not caveman."

The large boy pulled Malfoy away from the wall and slammed him back up against it. Malfoy's face screwed up in pain and Harry, acting on instinct, drew his wand.

"Put him down," he said, walking over to the pair. Malfoy's eyes instantly snapped open and when they landed on Harry his head fell back against the wall behind him at the same time that he swore under his breath. The Slytherin whose name Harry didn't know eyed him warily.

"Just go, Potter," Malfoy drawled, as though he wasn't being held up against a wall by a kid three times his size. "This doesn't require your heroics, I assure you. I can handle myself."

The boy turned back to Malfoy and let out a bark of laughter that effectively wiped the haughty expression from Malfoy's face.

"That right?" he snarled. "And what's it you plan on doin'?"

In answer Malfoy spat in the boy's face. Harry's eyes went wide and his heart rate sped up. Something told him that had been the worst possible move Malfoy could have made. Indeed, once the boy had wiped the spit from his face and flung in on the ground he lifted Malfoy higher up the wall, so that his feet were no longer touching, and shook him.

"PUT HIM DOWN!" Harry yelled, but he was ignored.

"I dunno who the _fuck_ you think you are, Malfoy!" he yelled. Harry, aware that he might have to resort to something other than words because those didn't seem to be working, aimed his wand at the boy's back. "But you ain't _shit _no more, you got that?" He shook him again, and this time Malfoy's head hit the wall hard. Without another moment's hesitation Harry shot a stunning spell at his massive target and the Slytherin crumpled to the ground. Harry pocketed his wand and ran over to Malfoy, who had fallen as well, and was on all fours.

"You all right?" Harry asked, getting down on his knees beside Malfoy. Malfoy sat up on his own knees and swatted Harry's hand away feebly.

"I'm _fine_, Potter," he snapped. "I told you to go away! God, why do you always have to be such a goddamn hero?"

Harry felt oddly hurt.

"Christ, Malfoy, he was trying to shove you through the wall. I was only helping."

"Yeah, well, I don't need your help, O Savior." Malfoy weakly got to his feet and brushed his shoulders off. Harry rolled his eyes and stood up as well. Malfoy looked horrible. There was a bruise blooming around his wrist, probably where that kid had been holding him before Harry had arrived, and it looked to be a bit of a struggle when Malfoy picked up his bag. "Now, if it's all right with _you_, I need to get to the library." He started off in the direction from which Harry had come.

Harry, without thinking about it, said, "But it's dinner!" He bit his lip when he realized what he'd said and watched in nervous anticipation as Malfoy turned slowly around and eyed Harry dangerously, as though Harry had said it on purpose.

"And?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Er—see you later, then, I suppose. . . ."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry before turning and walking away. Harry released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Malfoy turned a corner and out of sight.

* * *

><p>Draco wanted to strangle someone. Anyone, really. Potter—or even his obnoxious boyfriend—would be ideal. But if he tried strangling Potter chances were about fifty people would intervene before he could do much damage, and if he tried strangling Goldstein he wouldn't have a lab partner. Although that option seemed much preferable to the other option, which was working on a Potions lab with <em>Harry Potter's bloody boyfriend<em>.

He sat at a table in the library with the brunette Ravenclaw, pretending to skim through a book Goldstein had given him to look over. Typical Ravenclaw. Assuming everyone else is completely incompetent. Draco knew how to make a Dreamless Sleep Potion. In fact, he knew how to make it so well he could probably have done it with his eyes closed. The entirety of last year had been spent brewing it. Without it the Dark Lord and all the atrocities he'd forced Draco to watch and to commit would have plagued him every single night.

"Doesn't look too complicated," Goldstein said, closing his own book and looking up at Draco. Draco arched a brow.

"That's because it's not," he said.

"You've brewed it before . . . ?"

"Literally countless times," Draco sighed. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, daring Goldstein to make a snide remark. Apparently he wasn't that type, though, because he merely nodded.

"Well, that makes things easy. Are you any good?"

For some reason this question offended Draco. It was a legitimate question, he knew, but something about having Anthony Goldstein—who just happened to be dating Harry Potter—question his Potion-making ability made him want to strangle the other boy more than ever.

"Considering that I _just said_ I've brewed it countless times before I'd think a smart boy like yourself could have come to the conclusion all on his own that I would _clearly _be more than satisfactory."

Goldstein raised both his eyebrows at Draco.

"Gosh, and I thought you'd mellowed out this year. Or do I just get special treatment because of my boyfriend?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I couldn't care less who that pillock dates."

"What's changed?"

"Excuse me?"

Goldstein chuckled and Draco considered hexing his bollocks off. Who did this guy think he was?

"It's not a secret that you made his life hell our first six years here. I mean, come on, Malfoy, I had a class or two with both of you during that time and I could give you at least three examples of you guys going at it in class right now. Maybe you _don't _care anymore, but you certainly used to," said Goldstein. "Why is that?"

"Interestingly enough, however," Draco drawled, "mine and Potter's relationship has nothing to do with you. So why don't you bugger off and keep your large nose where it belongs?"

Goldstein sat up straighter in his chair and cocked his head, looking, for the first time, sincerely curious.

"You're avoiding the question."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Sorry?"

"Just answer my question," Goldstein said with a small laugh that Draco definitely didn't like. "Why don't you care anymore?"

"I don't know about you, _Goldstein_, but most of us have matured a bit since the war ended. Potter can do whatever the hell he wants. Frankly, I don't give a damn."

"If you're so matured why are you being so petty and rude?"

Draco stared at him for a moment. "Because you're a typical stuck-up Ravenclaw."

Goldstein nodded and the corner of his lip twitched. Draco eyed him carefully.

"Right. Well, aside from the fact that that statement itself was immature, I still don't believe you."

"I'm not too bothered by that," said Draco. Goldstein continued to smile.

"Well good. Then you won't have any objections to Harry coming along tomorrow when we study."

"Uh," Draco laughed mirthlessly, "yeah, actually, I would." Goldstein raised an amused eyebrow. "The point of meeting up to _study_ is so that we can _study_. Potter's ridiculous hair and glasses might blind me and then we'll be out of luck."

"Sorry, Malfoy," said Goldstein. "He needs help with his own project so I invited him along. He's partnered with Neville and, well—"

"Longbottom is entirely incompetent, yes, I _know_. Good. Potter deserves it."

"I thought you didn't care." Goldstein was having a hard time containing his smile. Draco thought he could have gouged his eyes out and not felt bad for a moment about it.

"Look," Draco said, standing up and gathering his books. "I don't know what ridiculous game you're playing, but I am no longer taking part. Bring whoever the fuck you wanna bring, Goldstein. See if I care."

* * *

><p>The second Anthony stepped out of the Ravenclaw common room Harry grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him close, pressing their lips together. He felt Anthony smile into the kiss before responding.<p>

"I missed you too," he chuckled when Harry pulled away.

"Sorry, I haven't seen you all day," said Harry, smiling sheepishly. "How was Malfoy?"

Anthony gave him an odd smile and Harry drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

"He was . . . unpleasant," Anthony chuckled. Harry smirked and kissed him again.

"Yeah, well, when isn't he?"

"That's the thing . . ." Anthony grabbed his hand and began walking. Harry followed, watching his boyfriend curiously. "Everyone says he's different this year. Not just because of the whole eating disorder thing, but he hasn't been as openly rude or condescending, either."

"Yeah, I guess," said Harry, thinking back to his few encounters with the Slytherin this year. He supposed it was true. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he couldn't fight for shit now that he was skinnier than most of the _girls_. Although hadn't Harry caught him being pounded into a wall for having made some snarky remark to a fellow Slytherin just the other day? That _was_the first time though, and it was already February. So he supposed Anthony was right for the most part.

"Well, he started mouthing off to me," Anthony said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Probably because he knows you're dating me."

"That's what I said."

"You said that to him?" Harry nearly laughed. He wished he could have been there to see Malfoy's face. Nobody generally had the patience to be snarky and rude back to Malfoy, except perhaps Hermione. It made Harry love Anthony that much more for being able to do that.

"He told me he didn't care who you were dating. Or what you do, for that matter." Harry's stomach dropped for a second before Anthony continued. "I didn't believe that, of course, so I pushed him. I asked him why he was being rude if it wasn't because I was dating you, and he told me it was because I'm stuck-up. And _then_, after he insisted that was the truth, I asked him if he'd mind if you came with tomorrow."

"What?" Harry gasped, stopping them in their tracks. Anthony chuckled. "Why would you do that? I mean, yeah, you're probably right, it probably _is_ because of me. I don't want to know _that _badly, though!"

"Harry . . ." Anthony said slowly, and Harry narrowed his eyes.

"What . . . ?"

"I think he likes you."

Harry stared at him for a good few seconds, waiting for him to say "April Fools!" or something of that nature. When he didn't, Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you joking?"

"I'm not," he laughed. "I think Malfoy has a crush on you."

"Anthony, do you hear yourself? That makes no sense. Malfoy hates me. He's always hated me. I don't even think he's _gay_."

"Um, are _you _joking?" Anthony smiled incredulously. "Malfoy practically screams gay! And anyway, I've heard rumors—"

"Well, whatever," Harry said hurriedly, uncomfortable with allowing his thoughts to travel down that path in case they decided to linger on the glimpse of Malfoy's V that he'd caught the other night. "Regardless, I'm the last person he'd ever have a crush on."

"I think you're wrong, Harry," Anthony sang mockingly. "I think it makes perfect sense."

"You're delusional," Harry said with a shake of his head, attempting to appear completely unaffected by this information. The truth was that he _knew_he'd be dwelling on this now for who knew how long. It just didn't seem possible that Malfoy could have a crush on him. The worst part, though, was that the idea didn't entirely disgust him. In fact, he found it kind of intriguing. After all, Malfoy was . . . well, he was Malfoy! He was like taboo. He was completely off limits, no matter what.

"You're not gonna run off with him now, are you?" Anthony teased. Harry looked down at him and rolled his eyes, planting a long kiss on his lips, mostly so that he didn't have to look into his eyes.

"I adore you," he whispered. He felt Anthony smile.

"Good. Because I was thinking we could spend the night in the Room of Requirement tonight, you know, since tomorrow's Saturday . . ."

Harry laughed. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>While their night together had certainly been pleasant, Harry still found himself complaining when Anthony dragged him to the library at noon. He'd been given time to shower, brush his teeth, and change his clothes, but that was it. Anthony was entirely serious about this project, apparently. Harry thought he may also have been excited to prove his theory. Harry continued to pretend like he thought it was ridiculous—which, really, he did—but he couldn't honestly say he didn't want to find out. Anthony didn't have to know that, though.<p>

They walked into the library to find it mostly deserted. A few Ravenclaws littered the tables and that was it. No Malfoy yet. Harry wondered if he'd even show up. He voiced this possibility to Anthony.

"If he doesn't I won't be held responsible for his grade," said Anthony. "And beyond that, he'll have proven my theory by default." He grinned mischievously at Harry, who only shook his head with an amused smile, hiding the fact that part of him was wildly excited that it could be true.

They sat down together at a table near some bookshelves and pulled out their books and parchment, preparing to start without Malfoy. They didn't have to work without him for long, however, because they'd only just begun looking over Harry's (rather abysmal) notes when a bag was dropped unceremoniously onto the table, causing them both to flinch violently.

"Fuck, Malfoy!" Harry whispered, dragging a hand through his hair and letting it fall back down onto the table. "The hell was that for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, giving Harry and Anthony the most sickeningly sweet smile Harry had seen since Umbridge's days at Hogwarts. "Did I interrupt?"

"_No_," Harry bit out, already becoming annoyed with the git, "you dropped your fucking bag on the table and scared the living crap out of us."

"You'll forgive me for not caring in the slightest." Malfoy sat down across from them and pulled his notes out of his bag. Harry glared at him while Anthony laughed quietly to himself.

"Okay," said Anthony. "Well, Malfoy, since you said you've brewed this potion several times before why don't you write down some notes about it while I help Harry, and then when you're done I can go over them so we're on the same page. I know a little bit about it, but clearly not as much as you do."

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. He honestly couldn't tell if Anthony was being facetious on purpose, but from the looks of it, Malfoy was taking it that way. He looked ready to jump across the table and beat Anthony within an inch of his life. Although, Harry reasoned, even if he did, he wouldn't do much damage. He looked especially bad this afternoon. He probably hadn't eaten yet today (or for several days perhaps), but he looked a little ashen and clammy, so he may have done a round of throwing up before he came. The thought made Harry's stomach churn uncomfortably. He didn't like feeling worried about Malfoy, especially when he was being such a prat.

"Or we could work on it together," Malfoy drawled. "Writing notes will be a waste of time. I may as well relay the information to you while we write our essay. I am _truly _sorry that Potter got hitched with a mentally handicapped troll, but, needless to say, my own—"

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, feeling that familiar anger bubbling inside of him that he hadn't truly felt since fifth year. Before Malfoy started looking like this. When his mission in life was still to crawl under Harry's skin and make him squirm. It was only made worse when Malfoy smirked. He knew he was getting to Harry, and Harry thought that was probably the point. But that didn't make it any better. If anything, it made it that much more difficult. He hadn't been the center of Malfoy's attention for years now and he'd forgotten how that felt. It was like fire was crawling through his veins, making him hot and angry and excited all at the same time. He wanted to shove Malfoy against a wall and rip off all his clothes and tell him how disgusting he looked. And even more than that, he wanted to see _Malfoy _get angry. That used to thrill him like nothing else, knowing he was getting to the git. And he hadn't done that in a long time.

"I'm only speaking the truth, Potter," he said softly, his eyes glittering. Merlin, he hadn't seen Malfoy this excited in what felt like forever. Could Anthony have been right? Did Malfoy have a thing for him? Could he be getting off on this as much as Harry was? Harry's eyes went wide and he looked down at the table, absolutely mortified. _He was getting off on this_. He was getting hard. Fighting with Malfoy like this . . . it was thrilling.

"Stop," Anthony said after a few seconds of silence. "We're here to work. I don't care _what _your reasons are for being a prat, Malfoy, I'm asking you to just shut up and write the notes while I help Harry. When I'm done, we'll go over them and write the essay."

Malfoy stared at Anthony, not glaring, but sizing him up. Finally he grabbed his quill and dipped it in the ink and began writing without another word. Anthony looked over at Harry, who could only shrug. He could no more understand Malfoy or his actions than he could understand why he'd ever kissed Cho Chang. Unlike the latter problem, however, this one wasn't so easy to dismiss. He wanted to know what was going on inside Malfoy's head.

Anthony started talking to him—something about the project—and Harry quickly determined not to let anyone know about this. Not Anthony, not Ron or Hermione. He'd heard enough from his friends about obsessing over Malfoy in sixth year when he'd had a _reason_. He knew this didn't qualify as a reason: wanting to know whether Malfoy had a crush on him. Wanting to fight with him because he got off on it. Wanting to understand his eating disorder, because, for whatever reason, Harry was desperately curious.

No, nobody could know. This was something he'd have to look into on his own.


	4. Chapter 4

_This is a shorter chapter, so I'm putting it up early. Thank for the reviews, dollies!_

_Special thanks to _HaughtyAristocrat _for beta-ing. _

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Four _

Harry had found himself wanting to break away from Anthony and get to his dorm earlier tonight. They'd been sitting together on the Astronomy Tower looking at the stars, cuddled up and talking periodically. It wasn't that it hadn't been nice—it had. He loved talking to Anthony and he loved looking at the stars (the cold wasn't so nice . . .), but he just couldn't seem to stop his mind from wandering down paths that it shouldn't. For instance, he kept picturing Malfoy that night he'd caught him in the loo. Ever since Anthony had stated his theory that Malfoy had a crush on him Harry found himself wondering exactly what Malfoy would look like if he was just a little less skinny. He was definitely smaller than Harry, as Harry had grown into himself in the past year, especially due to the rather intense physical aspects of it. But still, he thought Malfoy would look good, if a little feminine, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. And that V. . .

The worst, though, was that he wanted to get to his dorm so he could pull out the Marauder's Map and see what Malfoy was up to. Maybe he'd be in the bathroom again. If he was, Harry could go and . . . what?

This was the problem that had him staring at the Map in his bed now, his mind circling and driving him crazy. Malfoy _was_in a bathroom—the Prefects' bathroom again—and he was currently in a stall. Harry knew exactly what he was doing. His stomach was churning incessantly, making him feel sick. He couldn't very well just show up and tell Malfoy to stop just as he couldn't accuse Malfoy of having a crush on him and demand to know if it was true.

But he _could_"accidentally" run into him again. After all, they'd run into each other that one time. Certainly Malfoy wouldn't think anything of it this time . . . ?

Well, he didn't seem to have a choice now, because his body was literally itching to get up and go. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, wishing not for the first time that he had more self-control. There was no point dwelling, though. He didn't have self-control and he _did_want to see Malfoy, however bad the situation could end up turning out.

So he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and the Map and headed out of the Gryffindor common room, quickly but carefully making his way down to the Prefects' bathroom and checking the Map to make sure Malfoy was still inside before opening the door and going in himself.

He walked in to find Malfoy tugging a shirt on over his head. Harry caught only a short glimpse of his bare chest and swallowed thickly.

The moment the fabric was pulled down below his face Malfoy saw Harry and a fire seemed to light in his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he spat. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and took a cautious step closer, feeling for a wild moment like he was approaching a dangerous animal. Malfoy eyed him carefully but didn't move.

"I came down to take a bath. I do that sometimes when I can't sleep. . . . And I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Whatever," said Malfoy. He quickly snatched a jumper up from the ground—a regular, hooded one, Harry was surprised to see—and pulled that on over his head as well. It hung loosely on his small frame and Harry had the sudden urge to wrap Malfoy in his arms and hug him close. He fought the urge, but his fingers twitched in his pockets. He walked slowly over to the tub and began running the water, though he had no intention of getting in. He heard Malfoy making his way over to the door behind him and, taking a deep breath before doing so, Harry called out to stop him.

"Wait, Malfoy, I—er—wait . . ."

Malfoy turned very deliberately and eyed him. Harry wracked his brain for something to say.

"Sorry about, you know, what happened on Saturday. . . ." he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Malfoy raised a brow.

"Saturday?"

"Yeah . . . Just . . . I shouldn't have come with Anthony to your guys' study thing. . . ."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you care, Potter. What is it you really want?"

"What?" Harry stuffed his hands back into his pockets and shook his head. "No, I don't . . . I really am sorry."

Harry's breath caught in his throat when Malfoy began walking toward him and didn't stop until their noses were centimeters apart. Harry though that if he leaned forward just a little bit he'd be able to smell Malfoy's breath. Although, come to think of it, that might not be so desirable, considering he had probably just thrown up. He could, however, smell Malfoy's shampoo, which was a strange combination of masculine and feminine, and entirely, one hundred percent Malfoy. It _smelled_aristocratic and expensive. It smelled arousing at the same time that it smelled like something Harry probably shouldn't find attractive, but did. Harry stared straight back into Malfoy's cold, gray eyes and tried with every fiber of his being to ignore the fact that his cock seemed to like the smell of Malfoy's shampoo very, very much.

"I can't even fathom what ulterior motive you have here," Malfoy said softly, and it did nothing to quell Harry's libido. "But you're going to stop right now. I—" Malfoy stopped in the middle of his sentence and blinked rapidly before stumbling backwards. Harry, on instinct, reached out to grab him. He caught Malfoy by his upper arms and just managed to stop him from falling. When Malfoy found his footing again and recomposed himself he looked livid. He shook Harry off violently and stepped away. "God, just don't _touch_me, Potter!" he yelled, backing toward the door. Harry watched, frozen, but readied himself to move should Malfoy nearly pass out again. "Don't touch me, don't talk to me, just leave me alone!"

And with that he was out the door. Harry bit his lip and looked back at the bath, now a quarter of the way filled, before quickly turning it off and running after Malfoy. The blond was already halfway down the hall and Harry hurried to catch up. He'd almost made it there when Malfoy stumbled again. He reached out for the wall and slowly lowered himself to the ground, head bent low. Harry ran over and knelt beside him.

"Shit . . . Malfoy, you need to eat something—"

"No, shut up, Potter!" he gasped, weakly swatting at Harry. Harry grabbed his wrist and, using his other hand, forced Malfoy to look at him.

"Malfoy, your blood pressure's probably really low. You _need_to eat something or you'll pass out. Come on." He tried to heave Malfoy to his feet but the stubborn boy fought. Harry continued to try, unsuccessfully, until he finally growled low in his throat and Malfoy looked at him almost fearfully. "This isn't funny!" he yelled. "You need to get help!"

"Fine, just . . ." Malfoy looked down and whispered, "Just don't take me to the Infirmary."

"Okay," Harry breathed, more relieved than he knew he probably should be. He helped Malfoy to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist, entirely aware of the fact that this was similar to what he'd wanted to do earlier in the bathroom. Malfoy only hesitantly wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders in turn.

It took them around fifteen minutes to make it to the kitchens. Harry immediately asked Kreacher and Winky to get him some food and water and then helped Malfoy into a chair at a small table. Malfoy did not look happy about this, but he also looked extremely weak and the better part of his bad attitude was gone. Within seconds Kreacher brought a plate of sandwiches over along with what looked like a plain, baked chicken breast.

"Young Master Malfoy looks weak," the elf said, eyeing Malfoy worriedly. "He should eat meat. . . ."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said with a small smile. Kreacher bowed but didn't go anywhere. Winky had brought some water and Pumpkin Juice. Harry noticed that Malfoy was eyeing the food distastefully, as though it had somehow offended him. "Here. Eat some of a sandwich." Harry picked one up, ripped it in half, and tried to hand it over.

"I . . ." Malfoy looked down and Harry heard him swallow.

"You need to eat, Malfoy," Harry said rather urgently, shaking the sandwich in front of his face. "You nearly passed out twice."

"It's nothing. . . . I think I'm coming down with something, I—"

"Oh, give it up, will you?" said Harry angrily, and Malfoy finally looked up, eyes wide. "We both know it's because you haven't eaten."

"And how would you know that, Potter?" Malfoy asked coldly. Harry's anger abated very suddenly and he felt his cheeks flush.

"I . . ." He sighed and looked into Malfoy's eyes, trying to convey how worried he felt without actually saying it. "Look, we all heard Zabini in the hallway the other day—"

"Believe everything you hear these days?"

Harry took the jab without reacting. After all, he knew Malfoy must be scared right now. Not to mention light-headed and nauseous.

"Malfoy . . . look at you," he said quietly. Malfoy's face fell and he looked down again, though not at himself. Harry heard his breathing speed up a bit. "You can see your bones. You're way too skinny—"

"Oh, really funny, Potter!" Malfoy spat suddenly, taking Harry completely off guard.

"W-what—?"

"What are you getting out of this?" Malfoy stood up and wobbled slightly but managed to find his footing. Harry stayed seated, looking up at him nervously. What in the world was he talking about? "Calling me _skinny_. Do you think this is a joke? Why did you even help me?"

"M-Malfoy, I—"

"No, just stop, Potter! Just leave me alone!"

"You have to stop what you're doing," Harry said desperately, standing up and walking forward so they were only a few feet apart. Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away. Harry thought he could see tears welling in his eyes and felt horrible. "Anthony—he has a sister who had an eating disorder. . . . She never threw up, but he said he could tell you—"

"God, shut up about your fucking boyfriend, would you?" A tear finally fell down Malfoy's cheek and Harry wanted very badly to wipe it away. He felt just awful. He realized now that he shouldn't have brought Anthony into it. Not just because Malfoy could have a crush on him, but because . . . Well, because right now he felt like he was cheating on Anthony. He hadn't done anything, but his feelings alone were inappropriate. He shouldn't feel this protective over Malfoy. He shouldn't feel this worried. "He doesn't know anything. I don't have an _eating disorder_, so you can stop being the hero and leave me the hell alone!"

"Then why are you always in the bathroom, Malfoy?" he found himself yelling. The fact that Malfoy wouldn't admit it—wouldn't let him _help_—was driving him crazy. "Why do you look all pale and shaky and sick?"

"I told you, I'm coming down with so—"

"No, it's because you don't eat!" Harry shouted. "You don't eat and when you do you throw it back up!"

"Why the hell do you even care?" Malfoy was crying freely now. Harry couldn't find his voice for a moment due to the shock of having heard Malfoy as good as admit to what he was doing. He hadn't _denied_ it, and that counted for something. "What's it to you if I _do_something about the fact that I'm a bloody _whale_?"

Harry blinked rapidly for a moment. "A . . . A wh—?"

"Oh, don't bother!" Malfoy wiped furiously at his eyes and began backing toward the door of the kitchen. "Congratulations, you figured it out! I hope you're happy, Potter! Go tell all your friends that I puke my guts out every day! I hope you all have a good laugh over it, you fucking prick!"

Harry was too stunned to do anything about it when Malfoy stormed out, letting the portrait slam shut behind him. Harry continued to stare blankly at the spot where Malfoy had been only moments ago for another minute, rooted to the ground in shock. When he finally came back to himself he turned to find Kreacher and Winky staring at him anxiously.

"I'm sorry, you guys," said Harry softly. He shook his head. "The food looked wonderful, really. . . ."

"Master Harry should not worry," said Kreacher, who snapped his fingers and made the food vanish. "Master Harry was only trying to help." Harry nodded absently and looked back at the door.

"Right. Well, I guess I'll see you two later. Have a good night."

"Good night, Master Harry," the two elves said simultaneously.

* * *

><p>Draco hated Potter. He <em>hated<em> him. Where the hell did he get off shoving Draco's issues in his face? Before he'd thought Potter might have actually cared—he wouldn't have put it past him, anyway. He _did_ have a hero-complex. But he'd shown his true colors tonight. Perhaps he hadn't meant to, but Draco wasn't an idiot. Potter was taking the piss! He was humiliating him! It would have been kinder to just call him fat, but no, Potter had to take it a step further and act like he cared. He had to lure Draco in with those bloody hypnotizing eyes and make him feel like someone might actually get it. And then to call him _skinny_, of all things! Why not just Crucio him? Why not just kill him and get it over with? And to think he'd felt so safe when Potter had been holding onto him. . . . To think he'd let himself believe for even a second that it could have been real. God, and then he'd brought Goldstein into it. . . .

Draco walked quietly into the Slytherin dorms and his eyes were immediately drawn to the small bit of light coming from one of the couches. He groaned when he saw who it was and considered turning back. Unfortunately, Pansy was at his side in the span of two seconds and had her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Draco, we were so worried!" she sobbed into his shoulder.

Draco sneered and pushed her away. "I'm not bloody suicidal, you great cow." Pansy glared at him.

"You really need to get over this attitude of yours, Draco Malfoy," she hissed. "We're trying to help you! In case you've forgotten, you _have_no one else!" As soon as the words left her mouth she seemed to realize it had been the wrong thing to say. Draco narrowed his eyes at her dangerously.

"You think I could forget that?" Pansy opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off. "You're such an ignorant twat. Do you ever think before you open your mouth?" Again, she tried to speak, and again he spoke over her. "Do me a favor, Pansy, and leave me the fuck alone right now."

He pushed past her and went to his dorm, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. No sooner had he reached his bed, however, than the door opened again and Blaise walked in.

"Draco . . ." he said softly. Draco ignored him and climbed into bed, not bothering with pajamas. He heard Blaise sigh. "Pansy's an idiot. Will you just talk to me for a second?" Draco stayed silent, praying Blaise would just give up and go to bed. His prayers were in vain, though, because Blaise continued into the dark, "I know what you were doing." Draco's stomach clenched. "I'm not dealing with it anymore, Draco. We tried to help you and you won't let us. It's too much stress on me. Either swallow your goddamn pride and talk to me right now, or . . . or I'm through with you. I don't need this."

Draco didn't have to think about his decision. He didn't want Blaise's help. He didn't _need_his help. And if Blaise couldn't see that . . . Well, then he didn't need him as a friend, either. He closed the curtain around himself and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He heard Blaise sigh again before the other boy went to his own bed and got in.

Draco closed his eyes and felt tears well up there again.

God, how he hated Harry Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

_Some of these reviews are so wonderful and moving. Thank you so much. I apologize for not responding to all of them, I've been very busy with work and the like. Just know that every single one is appreciated. :)_

**Manorexic_  
><em>**_Chapter Five_

Harry thought Hermione could definitely tell something was wrong, but she didn't mention it if she did, and he was grateful. He didn't feel like talking about what had happened last night. If he was going to be perfectly truthful, he was scared. He hadn't imagined Malfoy was that bad. Yes, he knew he looked horrible, and of course he knew Malfoy was a self-righteous prat, but when Anthony had told him that his sister had thought she was fat, Harry just hadn't put it together in his head that Malfoy could _possibly_ be the same way. How could he? How could _anyone _that frightfully thin think they were anything but?

The way Malfoy had flipped his lid on Harry had really shaken him. He'd nearly passed out twice, and then he'd accused Harry of being facetious when he'd called him skinny! How did one deal with that? What was he supposed to say to make Malfoy understand that he was nearly emaciated?

Of course, this was exactly what was bothering him right now. He wasn't supposed to say anything, because Malfoy probably wanted nothing to do with him. For fuck's sake he thought Harry was taking the piss! And although that was the farthest possible scenario from the truth, Harry wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to convince Malfoy of that if he couldn't even convince him that he wasn't a bloody whale.

He was in History of Magic right now, Hermione to his right and Ron beside her. Malfoy wasn't in this class—they had it with the Hufflepuffs. Hermione was normally the only one paying attention, but today she seemed to be focused on Harry. She kept looking over and trying to catch his eye, which Harry adamantly ignored. Ron didn't seem to notice anything unusual going on. Although that could have been due to the fact that he was snoring rather loudly with his cheek pressed against his parchment.

When the bell finally rang to signal the end of class Hermione shook Ron awake before turning on Harry.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately. Harry sighed, mourning the loss of her reign of tact, and grabbed his bag. "Harry, I _know _something's wrong," she pressed, following him out of the room.

"'Mione, what are you talking about?" said Ron, elbowing Harry in the side and laughing. "He's fine."

Harry couldn't decide who he was more annoyed with. Hermione for pressing her concerns about an issue or Ron for not seeing that there was one. Harry put on a smile for Ron, who grinned and stuck his tongue out childishly at Hermione. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.

"Don't worry," Harry assured her. "I'm just a little stressed about N.E.W.T.s is all." He knew she didn't buy it entirely, but like before, she let it go. They were walking through an extremely crowded hallway anyway and it was difficult enough to avoid being jostled about too much.

Harry forgot to continue his charade of nonchalance when he spotted a blond head among the masses and quickly found that it was attached to Malfoy. He noticed because Malfoy had stopped walking and he looked entirely unaware of his surroundings. His chest was heaving as well.

"I'll catch up with you guys. . . ." he said hurriedly to Ron and Hermione, who didn't seem to have noticed Malfoy. He pushed ahead of them before they could question him further, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak as he went. He caught up to Malfoy just as the boy moved toward the wall and put his hand out to catch himself. Harry flung the Cloak over the both of them and helped lower Malfoy to the ground, who sagged against Harry the moment he'd wrapped his arms around him.

"We're under the Cloak," he told him quietly, and Malfoy seemed to sag further. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees. Harry leaned against the wall and sighed. "Did you eat breakfast?" Malfoy shook his head slowly. "Did you throw up?" Again, he shook his head. Well, that was good at least, Harry supposed. Although if he hadn't eaten he guessed he wouldn't have thrown up anyway. He wasn't really sure how this whole anorexia-bulimia thing worked. Not only did he have no previous knowledge save for what Anthony had told him, but it didn't make the slightest bit of sense in his head. Still, he felt the incredible need to help Malfoy. So he didn't judge, only sat there with the trembling blond until the corridors had cleared and they were well into their next lesson. Transfiguration, in Harry's case.

"You should eat something," Harry said eventually. He heard Malfoy laugh humorlessly into his knees.

"You should see someone about your hero-complex."

"Would you have preferred it if I'd let you pass out in the middle of the hallway?"

Malfoy didn't respond and Harry allowed a self-satisfied smile to turn his lips upward. A small part of his brain continued to berate him for this, the part that was constantly thinking about Anthony, but another, much larger part felt very comfortable here with Malfoy. And that same part both wanted to learn more about what was going on and to help him through it. He ignored the fact that it felt like a very clichéd head-versus-heart war, and that Anthony seemed to be the one in his head.

And he _definitely _ignored the fact that he was very much a go-with-your-heart kind of person.

* * *

><p>Draco allowed Potter to lead him to the kitchens once again. He told himself it was only because he really was too weak to argue, but an annoying part of him knew that he just wanted to feel that comfort again that Potter had afforded him last night. Even though it didn't make any sense, as he'd figured out what Potter was up to. Did the idiot Gryffindor really not get it? Was he really still trying to make Draco miserable?<p>

But he wasn't _that _stupid, was he?

A little ball of hope flared inside his chest and Draco clung to it desperately, all the while hating himself for having become dependent on someone else. This whole thing had been about taking control of his life when it had started—how was it that he'd lost control of this, too?

Potter sat him down at the same small table and asked the same two house-elves to make something to eat. Then he sat down across from Draco again and folded his arms on the table, resting his chin on them. His eyes were very green and very absorbing, just like last time, and Draco nearly forgot himself and stared right back. Thankfully, however, the house-elf came back with another plate of sandwiches and snapped him out of his reverie. He sneered at the food, knowing already with certainty that he wouldn't be eating one.

Almost as though the thought had floated right out of his head and made itself known to the room at large Potter said, "You need to eat one."

"And I suppose a stupid Gryffindor such as yourself is going to make me?" To his surprise, Potter glared at him. He looked angry. Draco looked down at his hands and began fidgeting.

"Look, despite what you may think, I'm not here to humiliate you, Malfoy." Draco felt a blush creep up his cheeks but continued to refuse to look at him. "What you're doing—it's bad. I don't see how you can _possibly _think you're fat, but—"

"Just stop," Draco said finally, standing up and wrapping his arms protectively around his torso. "It's one thing to be . . . worried that someone isn't eating. _Fine_. But don't tell me I don't have reason!" Potter looked abashed and Draco sneered at him. "Why are you still doing this? God, just tell me I'm fat! Pansy and Blaise, I understand! But _you_, Potter?" He laughed mirthlessly. "I thought you were just being an arsehole, but . . . I mean, what, are you trying to make me _feel_better? Because it's certainly not helping! I can see myself, you know! I KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE!"

By the end of his rant Draco felt his blood boiling in his veins and it took every ounce of strength to stop himself from throttling a house-elf or Potter himself. Potter, sitting there with his stupid glasses and his stupid hair, looking for all the world like he was actually worried about Draco. Like nothing could have possibly bothered him more.

"Stop!" Draco yelled furiously. Potter stood up and walked over, his face neutral. Draco stood his ground and stared right back. A second later, though, he wished he'd moved because, without warning, Potter placed a gentle hand on Draco's ribcage. Draco stumbled backwards out of instinct.

"I can feel your ribs," Potter said simply in response to Draco's horrified expression. "And when I walked in on you in the loo the other night I could see your spine." Draco was entirely lost for words. "Do you realize that you're seeing something different than everyone else?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Potter's face softened and he once again looked anxious.

"I'll help you."

"You can't help me," Draco said automatically. "And it doesn't matter anyway. You're wrong. You're crazy, Potter. I don't see anything different. I see the exact same cow that you see."

"No, Malfoy, I don't see that. I see someone who looks nearly emaciated. Look at your wrists. Look at your waist. You're skinnier than any girl at Hogwarts."

Potter's words were starting to do something to Draco's mind. He felt his stomach twisting and turning and tears building up. He wanted to hit Potter. He wanted to yell at him to stop saying these things that only made the hope in his chest swell. Because it couldn't be true. Potter couldn't care. That was ridiculous.

And most of all, Potter couldn't be right. Draco knew what he saw in the mirror every day.

But then . . . why would he continue to lie if Draco had figured him out . . . ?

"Potter," he said hoarsely, hating himself for giving in even this little bit. "Look me in the eye right now and tell me you think I'm too skinny."

Potter walked closer until Draco could see little flecks of brown in his eyes and he could smell a hint of soap. He fought to keep his breath under control.

"You're too skinny," said Potter simply. "And I want to help you."

Draco took a deep, shaky breath and looked away. How he wanted to believe what Potter was saying, both about his appearance and wanting to help him. And maybe a part of him did, but a larger part just couldn't do it. It would be relinquishing the rest of his control. It would be giving in. It would be taking too many risks. And he didn't have room for taking risks right now.

"No," said Draco, making himself back away. He heard Potter sigh in frustration and looked up. "You can't save everyone, Potter. I don't even _need_saving! So just . . . just leave me alone. My life doesn't concern you."

"Okay, well what if I want it to?" Potter seemed as surprised by his own words as Draco did, but he didn't take them back. Only looked a bit more nervous.

"That doesn't make any sense!" Draco shouted. "We hate each other, remember, Potter? I don't care how high and mighty you feel after defeating the Dark Lord; you're still a stupid little Gryffindor brat! You're still a human being! Not everyone wants a piece of you!"

Potter nodded slowly, his face unreadable. Draco swallowed thickly.

"You really know how to push people away, don't you, Malfoy?" he said softly, a hint of spite laced in his voice. It caused a shiver to travel the length of Draco's spine. "Fine. Starve yourself to death. Puke your guts up. I don't fucking care. But I sure hope you don't mind passing out in the corridors between classes, Malfoy, 'cause I'm not running to your rescue again."

"Good," said Draco immediately, putting as much venom into that one word as he could manage. Potter sneered at him—an expression which looked completely out of place on him—and wrenched the portrait open. Draco distinctly heard him mutter "bitch" under his breath before slamming the door behind him. Draco wanted to chase after him and show him exactly how big of a "bitch" he could be, but instead kicked one of the chairs, causing the house-elves to flinch. He then walked over to one of the walls and sagged against it, letting himself slide to the ground and bury his face in his knees again.

He adamantly told himself he'd done the right thing.

But somehow he just couldn't bring himself to believe that.

* * *

><p>Harry walked into the Gryffindor common room, still fuming, to find it entirely empty. Everyone was still in class. He walked over to the chairs by the fireplace and flopped down in one, immediately removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was stressed beyond reason over this Malfoy-thing. He knew it was stupid to let it get to him, but he couldn't very well help it, could he? It wasn't as though he could control his feelings.<p>

He sighed and let his hand fall into his lap. He could feel a massive headache coming on.

Why did he care so much? Malfoy had always been a huge prick, not to mention a _Death Eater_, and the prat who'd let all the _other_ Death Eaters into the school sixth year. Fine, he'd technically saved Harry's life when he, Hermione, and Ron had been captured during the war, but Harry had also saved _Malfoy's _life in the Room of Requirement. So it wasn't like he owed him anything!

But no matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that he shouldn't care, the fact remained that he did. This Malfoy was different than the Malfoy of years past. He was still a snotty bitch, but he also emanated this oddly helpless feeling that inexplicably drew Harry in and made him want to save the skinny blond. Harry _knew_he had a bit of a problem with saving people, but it was more than that. He wanted to know exactly what was going on inside Malfoy's head. And he didn't just want to save him, he wanted to comfort him. This thought made Harry's head spin.

The other issue was that of Malfoy's possible feelings for him. It made sense when taking into account his horrible reaction to Harry bringing up Anthony, but that was about it, and it could easily be attributed to the fact that Malfoy didn't like anyone. Harry had never been very good at discerning people's emotions. If there was anything else Malfoy was doing to hint that he liked Harry, Harry hadn't noticed it. He _had_, however, noticed himself feeling the tug of attraction lately around Malfoy. But he couldn't tell if that was because he knew it was possible that Malfoy liked _him_, or because he genuinely felt something. The latter didn't make any sense, of course, aside from the physical aspects. He couldn't deny that Malfoy was physically attractive—sans the emaciated body. If he gained a little weight Harry thought he would be extremely good-looking. Great, even.

Okay. So Malfoy could be incredibly attractive if he wanted to. So what? Harry wasn't shallow. Looks didn't mean everything.

"God, I need to stop doing this," he whispered to himself, pinching his nose again. For the past few days his mind had been going in circles about Malfoy. This had to stop. Malfoy _clearly _didn't want Harry's help, so despite Harry's irrational yearning to do so—and regardless of any reasons that might be behind this yearning—he was going to stop. He'd tried several times and each one had been shot down. So he was done.

Unfortunately, this resolution didn't stop his mind from wandering. Granted, he didn't try very hard.

* * *

><p>When Hermione and Ron had interrogated him later on before dinner about where he'd run off to he'd made up a story about being hit by a sudden wave of nausea and explained that he'd spent the entire afternoon in bed sleeping it off. Ron bought it—Hermione didn't. She kept casting sidelong glances at him all throughout dinner, as though she might catch him doing something that would help her figure it out.<p>

When they left the Great Hall she bombarded him again. He kept up a steady stream of denials all the way up until the seventh floor, when he was rescued by Anthony.

"Hey, sexy boy," Anthony said with a smirk before sidling up to Harry and planting a kiss on his lips. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. His mind kept drifting back to Malfoy and the feeling he'd gotten that he was cheating on Anthony. He pulled away and forced himself to smile at his boyfriend, who seemed to buy it, because he linked his fingers with Harry's. For a brief moment it annoyed Harry that Anthony couldn't read him at all. He was grateful right now, of course, but something about that made him feel distant. He hated the fact that he was all too well aware that Malfoy could read him like a book.

_Stop comparing them_, he told himself harshly.

"You guys wanna come study with me in the library?" said Anthony, looking at them in turn. "Terry skived off our study session in favor of snogging some mystery bird." Ron groaned at the same time that Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"We'd love to," she said, sparing Ron a glare. Harry sighed but agreed. He supposed studying might help to take his mind off of a certain anorexic blond anyway.

The four of them made their way to the library, which was filled with students finishing up their homework after dinner. They sat down at an empty table and Anthony and Hermione quickly pulled out their books and got to work. Ron looked to Harry dully. Harry grinned at him.

"I don't suppose you plan on doing anything?" Anthony asked.

"Hey, I'm not even the one who agreed to come down here," he said in his defense. Anthony mock-glared at him and nudged him with his shoulder.

"You're impossible, do you know that?"

"Yes." Harry smiled widely at him and Anthony huffed.

The four of them worked for a good half hour before Ron started to complain too much for Hermione's liking, so she gave in and went back up to Gryffindor Tower with him. Harry decided to stay with Anthony for a bit longer, as the Ravenclaw was determined to finish his part of the essay for his lab with Malfoy, which was due tomorrow. Harry kept himself entertained by doodling on a piece of parchment. Anthony would periodically peek over and snicker at Harry's drawings and Harry would, in turn, close Anthony's book, causing him to lose his place. By the time they were heading out of the library Harry was feeling particularly fond of Anthony. Malfoy had taken up residence at the back of his mind for the first time in about a week.

He laced his and Anthony's fingers and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

"Why're you so lovey-dovey tonight?" Anthony giggled. Harry thought it was absolutely adorable and couldn't help it when he backed Anthony up against a wall and drew him into a long kiss. When he pulled away he saw that Anthony's cheeks were flushed and he looked breathless.

"Why are you so cute tonight?"

Anthony smiled. "Well, to be honest, I was kind of hoping this would happen."

Harry smirked and leaned in to kiss him again.

* * *

><p>It was almost half past eight and Draco was already exhausted. He'd just been in the Prefects' bathroom again, puking up his dinner because, once again, he'd eaten to get back at Blaise. Not that they were speaking.<p>

He was walking down a fourth floor corridor toward the stairs when he stopped, spotting two figures in the distance against a wall. Assuming it to be a completely arbitrary couple, Draco continued walking, prepared to simply ignore them. However, as he came within twenty feet or so he stopped. This couldn't just be a random couple, because they both seemed to be boys. And the only gay couple at Hogwarts of which Draco knew was . . . yep. The longer he stared the easier it was to tell that the shaggy dark mop of hair belonged to Harry Potter, who was currently snogging Anthony Goldstein's brains out against a wall.

Draco's stomach twisted and his heart seemed to rise into his throat. He turned on the spot and walked away, prepared to take the long way to the stairs if it meant avoiding having to see that any longer.

He wiped a silent tear away, cursing himself for wishing that was him against the wall.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow, sorry, guys. My life has been mega hectic this past, like, week. Please accept my apologies and enjoy this chapter. :)_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Six _

Ron usually fell asleep right away. Trust him to choose tonight—the night Harry needed to get to the Owlery to order Ron's birthday present—to stay up talking.

"Man, how cool would that be, though, eh? To be flying around the stadium with all those fans cheering?" He went into a dream-like state and Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, I suppose that would be nice. At least they'd like you for something _other_than a scar on your forehead."

Ron smirked at him. "You're no fun at all."

"Hey. I've had enough fun for a _lifetime_."

"Nooo," said Ron, finally wriggling under his covers, "you've had enough _trouble_ for a lifetime. You haven't had _any _fun. Except for, I don't know, breaking into Gringotts."

Harry raised a brow at him. "You had fun doing that, did you?"

"Yeah, well, you know, it's not something everyone can say they've done, is it?"

"Uh, no," said Harry slowly, "but neither can most people say they've destroyed a Horcrux. Or gone on a year-long hunt for Horcruxes, for that matter."

"_Point is_," said Ron, "you've done a bunch of dangerous stuff and escaped being murdered thousands of times. But you haven't done anything _fun_. However, we can rectify that on my birthday, which just happens to be in ten days' time."

"Oh, is it?" Harry said sarcastically. Ron scowled at him. "Is your birthday on March first? It must not have registered the past seventeen times you informed me and Herm—" Harry's sentence was cut short when Ron threw a pillow at his head.

"I hope you get a concussion."

"I hope you enjoy sleeping without a pillow."

Harry laughed as Ron sprung out of bed and began pulling on the pillow, which Harry was gripping tightly against his chest.

"Give me the pillow!"

"You shouldn't have thrown it at me!"

"I'll tell Anthony you had a crush on Terry!"

Ron flew backwards with his pillow when Harry let go.

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh," said Ron, fluffing out his pillow and placing it back on his bed with an evil smirk, "I _would_."

"You do and I'll tell Hermione you wanked over Lavender!"

Ron immediately went red. "But I didn't!"

Harry raised a brow and climbed under his own covers. "But she'll give you a hard time until she realizes you're telling the truth."

"That's just downright Slytherin," Ron whispered. Harry chuckled.

"Shut up and go to sleep. Pretty soon Seamus, Dean, and Neville will be back up here and Neville's snores are worse than yours."

Ron stuck out his tongue and Harry rolled his eyes at him.

"'Night, Harry," Ron laughed.

"'Night."

Harry closed his curtains and lay quietly in his bed, waiting for Ron's snoring to start up. Their three roommates came up within ten minutes, prolonging the time it took for Ron to drift off, so Harry had to wait a good hour before he could leave. When he was satisfied everyone was sleeping, he grabbed his Cloak and the letter he'd already written to Quality Quidditch Supplies and set out for the Owlery.

Harry was glad he looked up from the letter he was rereading before stepping too far inside. At the far end, sitting on a windowsill, was Draco Malfoy, hunched over, spine sticking out, pale skin glowing softly in the moonlight. He looked ethereal. Like a painting of a skeleton or something. Or maybe a fallen angel, as stupid as that sounded. It looked like wings would sprout from his back at any second. Harry quickly realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it, feeling his cheeks blush.

Then he had the presence of mind to wonder why Malfoy wasn't wearing a shirt.

A part of him didn't want to disturb the boy, not just because he knew Malfoy would probably be annoyed, but because he looked so beautiful sitting there. But Harry really did have to send this letter out.

He decided that, since Malfoy would undoubtedly hear him when he called for Hedwig anyway, he would make him aware of his presence first. He walked up behind Malfoy quietly and rested his arms on the sill. Malfoy looked over at him, sighed, and looked away again.

"Where's your shirt?" Harry asked.

"I got vomit on it," he said rather bluntly. Harry merely nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Sending a letter."

Malfoy rolled his eyes with a slight nod. "I probably could have guessed that."

Harry smiled to himself and moved away from the windowsill to call Hedwig down, who landed on his shoulder and nipped at his ear affectionately.

"Take this to Quality Quidditch Supplies and come back as quickly as you can. Hermione needs to use you tomorrow." Hedwig nipped him again and took off out another window. When Harry turned back around he found Malfoy standing a few feet off, arms wrapped around his torso and head bent. His hair covered his eyes. Harry went over, knowing full well that this quiet Malfoy could turn into an angry one within the space of five seconds.

"Aren't you cold?"

Malfoy didn't answer. After a few moments he looked up and said quietly, "You really wanna help me?"

Harry couldn't hold back a small, almost relieved smile. He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"It might not work, you know."

"It's worth a try." Harry slipped out of his jumper, feeling the chilly air hit his bare arms, and handed it to Malfoy. Malfoy stared at it blankly.

"You'll be freezing."

"_I'll _be fine," Harry laughed. "I have a shirt and my Cloak. Take it." He shook it in front of Malfoy's face and finally, hesitantly, he took it and slipped it over his head. It was huge on him, but Harry found he liked the sight of Malfoy wearing his clothes. His cheeks blushed then and he cleared his throat. "Right, well, I can take you back to your dorm if you want. Since I have the Cloak. . . ."

Malfoy seemed to contemplate this for a moment before shaking his head.

"That's all right. It's out of your way."

Harry briefly marveled at the fact that Malfoy would even _care _if it was out of his way. To be honest, he wanted to walk Malfoy back, but something told him it was probably a better idea not to, so he didn't push.

"Okay. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah. 'Night."

"G'night," Harry whispered, watching as Malfoy left the Owlery and disappeared. He found that, despite the fact that it was winter and he was standing in the middle of the Owlery, he wasn't all that cold.

* * *

><p>Draco was in heaven as he made his way back to the Slytherin dorms. Potter's jumper smelled like him. And as it was really quite large on Draco, the scent wafted over him and completely engulfed his senses. It was like he was walking along in a little bubble of Harry Potter. He kept replaying in his head the way Potter had smiled when he'd insisted that he really wanted to help. The way he'd looked anxious when he'd asked Draco if he wasn't cold. He knew he shouldn't be dwelling on these things; after all, Potter had a boyfriend. And even if he didn't, the chances of him falling for Draco were slim to none.<p>

And since when did Draco even _want_Potter to fall for him?

_Since you spotted him snogging Goldstein and wished it was you_, a little voice in his head told him. _And since he started acting like he really cared._ It was strange. Having Potter open up like this . . . it made Draco think. He'd always known that he cared what Potter thought, which was why he'd always been so mean to him, but now that he had Potter's attention—and now that it was _positive _attention—there was this part of him that felt somehow satisfied. Like that's what he'd been waiting for all along.

He tried not to think about that. Regardless of whether or not it was true, it wouldn't help anything. Because Potter was in a relationship anyway.

That didn't mean Draco couldn't enjoy his time with the boy hero, though. Draco never _had _been all that accommodating to other people, and damn if he was going to start with Anthony Goldstein.

It was about two when he entered the Slytherin common room. He expected it to be mostly empty. It was a week night, after all. Indeed, there didn't seem to be anyone there at first. But then, as he moved toward the middle of the room, he spotted Pansy sitting on a couch reading. He would have liked to slip past her, but he also felt bad. She may be annoying as all hell, but she _was_his friend, and she had always been there for him. And he'd been so mean to her lately. . . .

He sighed and went to sit down next to her. The moment she noticed him she bit her lip and slowly put the book down.

"Hey," she said quietly. Draco smiled softly at her and pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Why are you up?"

"Finishing homework," she mumbled. Draco pulled her away gently and she straightened herself out. "Where were you?"

"Owlery." He left out the fact that before that he'd been in the bathroom. Her eyebrows dipped in confusion.

"The Owlery?"

"I was just sitting in there. No one usually goes up there this time of night." Except Potter, apparently. Not that he was complaining at the moment. Pansy nodded and looked down.

"I'm sorry that recently I've been a bit . . . nosy," she said. Draco sighed, resigning himself to this conversation. She looked up, evidently having heard the noise. "I know you don't wanna talk about this . . . but I just . . . I feel bad, Draco, but I don't know what to do. I'm scared that you're really hurting yourself." Draco placed a hand on Pansy's knee.

"I'm not," he said, looking into her eyes. He found himself able to lie fairly well right now. It helped that Pansy wasn't the brightest. "I need you to trust me, okay? I'm fine. I'd tell you if I wasn't."

Pansy searched his eyes for a moment, clearly on the fence about this statement, but if she had any doubts she didn't voice them. She merely nodded and placed her hand on top of his.

"You should go to bed."

Draco squeezed her hand and nodded, kissing her on the cheek before getting up and heading toward the dorms.

"Hey." Draco turned to look at her. She was eyeing him curiously. "Where's that jumper from?"

Draco's heart began pounding anxiously in his chest.

"I've had it," he lied quickly. "It's just for bed normally, but since it was late . . ."

She nodded. "It's big on you."

He shrugged. "I like big pajamas." Pansy smiled at him grudgingly and bade him goodnight again. Draco really did want to feel bad for lying to her, but he simply couldn't do it when the object he was lying about smelled so fucking incredible. He crawled into bed and cuddled up in said jumper, allowing himself to drift off pretending Potter was there with him.

* * *

><p>Harry was having a very hard time not looking at Malfoy in Potions the next day. It was Friday, though, so at least he wasn't the only one being antsy. Not to mention tomorrow was scheduled to be a Hogsmeade trip so everyone was extra excited for the coming weekend.<p>

What was really beginning to annoy him—though he didn't like to admit it—was the fact that he hadn't once caught Malfoy looking at _him_. And he'd been looking at _Malfoy_quite a bit.

He sighed and rested his chin in his palm, feeling his cheek squish and his glasses dig into his nose. Perhaps he was dwelling a bit too much on the whole Malfoy-maybe-liking-him thing. First of all, it could be entirely false, which, in all honesty, seemed the most likely scenario. And even if it _was_ true, that was no reason for Harry to get off on it, as thrilling as the concept may have been. It was just something about it being _Malfoy _that made it ridiculous. And exciting. There was no point denying it. Plus, something about his vulnerable state, especially now that he'd entrusted Harry with helping him get better, turned Harry on more than he cared to admit. And the thought that his own jumper was still in Malfoy's room . . .

But it didn't matter. He really liked Anthony, and Anthony was cute and sexy and fun and _that_ was what Harry needed, after all. Like Ron had been saying the other night, Harry needed _fun_, not more trouble. And Malfoy was sure to be nothing _but_ trouble. In a relationship, that is. Because even if it was troublesome to help him through his eating disorder there was no way Harry was backing out. Not just because he felt like he needed to help, but the accomplishment of having Malfoy actually _agree_ to let _Harry _help him was like . . . like winning the lottery or something. No one would give back their prize. They would have to be insane. And that's exactly what this felt like. He'd have to be out of his mind to go back on his promise to Malfoy.

However, it still felt like something that should be kept secret, if only because Hermione and Ron—and probably Anthony—would interfere. Especially Ron. He would go ballistic.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when the bell signaling the end of class rang and the scrape of chairs filled the dungeon classroom. Harry put his books back into his bag and heaved it onto his shoulder, rubbing his cheek as he followed Ron and Hermione out of the classroom. It was nearly numb from having been resting on it for so long.

As he fell into step with them he saw Malfoy pass by out of the corner of his eye and resisted the urge to say something. It wasn't hard. Malfoy didn't even _look_at him. A part of Harry felt angry about this, though logically he knew it was for the same reasons that he, Harry, didn't say anything either.

Well, he hoped, at least.

This train of thought was broken when someone slipped their hand into his and laced their fingers. He put a smile on and turned to see Anthony grinning back up at him.

"Boy, this new professor isn't all that much better than Snape, is he?" said Anthony. Harry felt a small bubble of annoyance swell inside of him and he couldn't help frowning at his boyfriend who, for the first time since they'd started dating, seemed a bit ignorant. He knew, of course, that nobody else was aware of the fact that Snape had really been a hero, but that didn't seem to matter.

"Snape was a good man," said Harry quietly, feeling himself blush because he knew how that sounded. He still wasn't used to defending the man. At the same time that Anthony balked at him Harry caught Malfoy subtly turn his head and stare. Harry blushed ever more fiercely and looked down. Still, he couldn't deny that he felt good about Malfoy having heard him say that. Malfoy _had_been a favorite of Snape's and had, in turn, seemed to idolize the man.

"Since when do you defend Snape?" said Anthony.

Harry was saved the trouble of figuring out something to say by Hermione.

"He was on our side the whole time, he just didn't show his true colors until the end of the war," she explained. He was glad she left out the bit about his mother and Dumbledore and all that, not only because it would have taken a very long time, but because it felt extremely personal. Anthony may have been his boyfriend, but that was just . . . too much too soon. Perhaps one day he'd tell him.

"That's weird," said Anthony rather nonchalantly in Harry's opinion. As though it wasn't all that big a deal. Again, he felt rather annoyed with his supposedly intelligent boyfriend. "He was such an arse to you, though. I'm surprised you got over those feelings so easily."

"Yeah, well, after a war like that you realize there are some grudges that aren't worth sticking to." The double meaning of this statement was not lost on him and Harry found himself unconsciously looking around again for Malfoy, but he didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Lunch was next . . . so Malfoy was most likely in his dorm. Or the bathroom. Harry had noticed that he'd not been at breakfast, so he probably wasn't throwing up, at least. Of course, Harry had no idea how that worked for Malfoy, nor could he pretend to, so he supposed anyone's guess was as good as his own.

"How noble of you," Anthony teased, leaning in to kiss Harry's cheek. Normally Harry would have found this very cute, but he was just a bit too annoyed with him right now. He merely smiled and accepted the kiss without comment.

They parted ways with Anthony in the Great Hall and Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down next to Neville, who was having a seemingly in-depth conversation with Ginny.

Harry hadn't been particularly fond of Ginny lately. They'd dated briefly after the war until Harry had realized she just wasn't doing it for him and that this cute Muggle barista at a coffee shop definitely looked like he could. Ginny hadn't been devastated, but she'd not been happy either. Harry couldn't tell if she supported his sexuality. She'd never said anything to the contrary, but something about the way she acted around him—and sometimes the things she said—made him think she didn't like it.

One time while they'd been eating dinner—Harry had stayed with the Weasleys over the summer—Harry had quickly thrown on some clothes to go outside and play Quidditch. Ginny had raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and said, "Shouldn't you have a better sense of style if you're going to be gay?"

At the same time that he'd been extremely annoyed by this statement, he'd been very impressed with Ron's retort: "It doesn't change who he is, Ginny, and he didn't _choose _to be gay," he'd said fiercely. Hermione, too, had beamed at her boyfriend for it.

She'd continued to make subtle comments like these, though they weren't as blatantly vicious or ignorant.

"Hey, guys," Hermione said to the two as they sat down. Neville smiled widely, but Ginny merely leaned forward and began talking at once.

"Don't you think it was horrible to let any of those Slytherin students back?" she said, gesturing rather obviously over her shoulder toward the Slytherin table. Harry felt himself blush at the same time that his earlier annoyance at Anthony came flooding back.

"_No_, I think it was an excellent idea," he said, grabbing a roast beef sandwich and putting it on his plate. "The idea is to promote unity and forgiveness."

"Yes, I agree," said Hermione genially. "I think it's wonderful that McGonagall is willing to forgive and forget. Well, not forget, I suppose, but forgive and _learn_."

"That's what I was saying," said Neville. Harry couldn't help smiling fondly at him. He'd changed so much since they'd met him first year. "I mean, sure, they weren't the most helpful during the war—especially a select few—but they were kids, yeah? I think it's great that they get a second chance."

"Exactly," said Hermione. Ginny was frowning so she added, "I understand why you feel that way, though. Pansy Parkinson certainly was a horrible coward, wasn't she?"

"Uh, yeah, and how about _Malfoy_ with his _Dark Mark _and—"

"Just stop, Ginny," Harry said forcefully. It had sort of slipped out. Everyone looked at him strangely and he blushed. "Look, the point is they're here and they haven't done anything wrong, so why don't we just let it be, okay?"

"That's pretty interesting coming from someone who spent his days at Hogwarts _slicing Malfoy to ribbons_—"

"Ginny!" Hermione shouted. Harry was squeezing his sandwich so hard that meat was falling out of the sides, but he didn't notice.

"Well, he did!"

"Stop," Ron said softly, though he didn't look like he necessarily disagreed. An uncomfortable silence surrounded them and no one said a word for a fair few seconds.

Finally, Ginny sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," she said. "It's just hard to see them here when they did so much damage. I mean, thanks to Malfoy Bill's face is . . . the way it is. . . ." Hermione laid a soothing hand on Ginny's back and Harry tried to look understanding. He felt horrible for Bill, obviously. Bill was like his brother. The part that didn't feel right was Ginny. This felt more like an act than anything. A way to gain sympathy back after having said something that everyone else had clearly disapproved of. Harry let it go, though. It wasn't worth causing a scene.

He looked up and found the Slytherin table, noting that Malfoy was not, as he had expected, there. He sighed and looked back down at his food, finding that he was no longer hungry. He just wanted to talk to Malfoy. In the Owlery they hadn't discussed _how _Harry was going to help him. Were they going to meet up at regular intervals? Would they talk about it, like people apparently did in rehab?

Harry needed to find a way to privately ask Malfoy when he wanted to discuss everything. Perhaps the Marauder's Map would prove useful once again tomorrow night after Hogsmeade.


	7. Chapter 7

_Wow, sorry. That was like a lot longer than four days. But here it is! Enjoy chapter seven. :)_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Seven _

Draco wasn't entirely thrilled to be going into Hogsmeade, but Pansy had begged, and so he'd relented. He hadn't gone once yet this year. It just hadn't been something he'd wanted to do. He knew Pansy had gone once or twice, as had Blaise, and he thought a few other Slytherin eighth years had gone as well. Blaise wasn't accompanying them this time, though. He still wasn't talking to Draco.

Pansy held Draco's gloved hand as they strolled down the snow-covered path to the little town, humming quietly to herself, and Draco was surprised to find that he felt rather peaceful. When she wasn't being nosey or prying into his business, Pansy really was a nice person to be around.

"So," she said suddenly, swinging their arms back and forth. "Who do you think has changed the most since first year?"

"What?"

"I don't know," she laughed. "Everything's been so serious lately. Can't we talk about trivial things like normal teenagers for a minute?"

Draco smiled at her. Yes, she was definitely refreshing sometimes.

"Er — I don't know, everyone's changed a lot, haven't they? Do you mean physically?"

Pansy scrunched up her face in thought and then said, "Physically first, _then_ emotionally. Well, personality-wise, I suppose. Oh! But for physically tell me who you think has changed the most for the _better_."

Of course, Potter immediately came to mind. He'd gone from being a scrawny little kid to a very attractive young man. Draco rolled his eyes at himself. He couldn't very well mention Potter, could he? Would Pansy figure it out?

Probably not, he reasoned. She wasn't all that bright. Easy to be around, yes, but not necessarily intelligent.

"Well, Potter's certainly changed . . ." he offered quietly. He saw Pansy smirk and blushed.

"Knew you'd say that," she chuckled.

"What? Why!"

"Well, you're _gay_, and anyone with at least one eye and a preference for the male species could see that he turned out fit," she said. Draco couldn't help laughing. "For me, it would be either him or Justin Finch-Fletchley."

"A Hufflepuff?" Draco shouted, scandalized. Pansy giggled.

"Hey, he's handsome! Personality's got nothing to do with that!"

"Oh my God," Draco grumbled. "And I thought you'd hex me for saying _Potter_."

"Yes, well . . . If you pick him for _emotional _growth I may just do that."

They finally made it to the Three Broomsticks and Pansy led him inside and to an empty table near the back. Draco was still dwelling on what she'd just said about Potter and his personality. He wouldn't have chosen Potter for that anyway, if only because he'd known without her saying it that she wouldn't have liked it, but he couldn't pretend Potter wouldn't be the honest choice. Not after he'd given Draco his jumper and promised to help him. Not after that sickening hero-complex had been turned on _him_.

He wasn't stupid enough to say it out loud, but inside Draco knew that he was thriving on being cared for by Harry Potter.

"So what about emotionally?" asked Pansy.

"I don't know . . . I feel like everyone's changed a lot."

"Okay, but who's changed the _most_?"

As Draco was thinking, Madam Rosmerta came by and took their orders. Pansy ordered a butterbeer and Draco asked for water. He heard her sigh next to him, but she didn't comment.

"Well?" she prodded.

"God, Pansy, I don't know. The Weaslette?"

Pansy looked thoughtful. "Interesting. Why?"

"Well, she didn't become a little slut until our fifth or sixth year, did she? Before that I hardly noticed her." That was also the year she'd dated Potter, Draco noted sourly.

"Yes, that's true," said Pansy. "I won't pretend I paid much attention, but I do recall her dating several blokes. And Potter." She laughed at this last one. "Perhaps it was her horrifying ginger bits that sent him round the bend, if you know what I mean?" She elbowed Draco and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"You're hysterical," he drawled. "What about you? Who do you think has changed?"

"Oh, that's easy," she said with a little smirk. "You."

Draco had taken a sip of water and he had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting it out. "_Me_?"

"Yes, _you_," she said. "Draco, when we first came here you were loud and arrogant and obnoxious. I still loved you, mind, but you've definitely changed. You're much more reserved now."

"Is that . . . a good thing?" he asked quietly.

"In some ways." She sipped on her butterbeer, thoughtful for a few moments. "You're much more mature, and that's good, because so am I, and if you were still plotting ways to get Potter expelled I might have to kill you." Draco swallowed thickly but didn't say anything. No, he definitely wasn't doing that. "But in other ways it's . . . well, it's not _bad_, per se, but a little . . . I don't know . . . sad. Frustrating."

Draco's heart clenched and he looked down at his hands, cupping the bottom of the glass. He felt Pansy put a hand on his shoulder.

"With everything that's happened you've lost a little bit of that passion that made you _you_, Draco. I don't think it's gone forever, but I do think you need some help. Maybe not from me or Blaise, but someone. I love you. I always will." She leaned in and kissed his cheek softly. "But I dearly miss that old Draco who didn't always look so . . . down."

Draco sighed. He wished her words didn't hurt so much. His only comfort was that he had, indeed, asked someone to help. Sort of. Even though it was rather difficult for him to believe there was a problem in the first place. A very small part of him knew he'd done it just to be around Potter more, but he adamantly ignored that.

This thought process was broken by a particularly loud grumble from his stomach. Pansy looked over, eyed him, and looked away again without speaking, choosing instead to take another gulp of her drink.

Draco had grown to like the feeling of hunger pains. It hurt, of course, but it was a good pain. He imagined he could actually feel his stomach shrinking every time it growled loudly. His stomach had become the enemy—that's what he imagined it as, anyway. It was a monster, and of course he wouldn't feed something that wanted to hurt him. Something that wanted to make him even more hideous than he already was.

"Is there anywhere else you wanted to go while we're here?" he asked in an attempt to break the tension.

"No, that's all right. We can go back if you want. I just wanted to get out and take a walk."

Draco merely nodded and stood up, throwing a Galleon on the table to pay.

"Draco, you didn't even get anything," Pansy protested. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Consider it thanks for getting me out of the castle."

She smiled at him grudgingly and they left together, Draco unsure whether he should feel happy for a friend like Pansy or miserable that he still couldn't get Potter out of his head.

* * *

><p>"Merlin, that slag still hasn't figured out that he's a complete ponce?" Ron laughed, gesturing ahead of them to where Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were walking hand-in-hand toward Hogsmeade. Harry's heart had climbed steadily toward his throat until it lodged itself there and refused to move. He felt like it was constricting his breathing.<p>

He chose not to comment on Ron's statement. For one, he didn't know for sure that Malfoy _was _gay, although he strongly suspected it. Secondly, he wasn't quite ready to deal with the fact that half of him hoped he was.

"Ron, will you _please _stop making such negative comments about homosexuality?" Hermione intoned. "In case you've forgotten, your best friend is gay!"

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry chuckled. "He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Exactly," said Ron, folding his arms across his chest. "And I defended him to Ginny, didn't I?"

Hermione smiled grudgingly and let the subject drop.

"How are the plans for your birthday going?" she asked. Ron brightened visibly.

"Brilliant. George owled over loads of sweets and Mum's said she's going to send cakes! Seamus reckons he can get some firewhiskey, too."

"Oh, lovely," said Hermione sarcastically. "A House full of drunken Gryffindors."

"Hey, hey," said Ron, holding out a hand and looking much too proud of himself. Harry bit back a laugh while Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I helped defeat You-Know-Who. Let me have my fun."

"Says the boy who still can't say Voldemort's name."

This time Harry did laugh. Ron merely scowled and followed after Hermione, who had a shit-eating grin plastered on her face.

* * *

><p>It was one o'clock in the morning. The Marauder's Map was laid out in front of Harry on his bed. He'd been watching it by the light of his wand for the past hour, deliberating whether or not to go to the Prefects' bathroom where Malfoy had been for half an hour now. He'd gone into a stall for around ten minutes and Harry's stomach had twisted and turned horribly. He'd almost gotten up and gone at that point, but he'd stopped himself, deciding that their first time meeting on good (well, almost-good) terms should not start with him barging in on a purging session.<p>

But now Malfoy appeared to be staying in one place. His dot was near the edge of the tub. Harry was still in his day clothes, never having changed out of them. He stared at the dot for a moment longer before folding the Map, grabbing his Cloak, and leaving the dorm. Malfoy had _asked _for help, and what other opportunity would they have to talk? Harry had the advantage of the Map, why not use it?

He checked the Map again before going in to find that Malfoy was still in exactly the same place. He tucked the Map neatly in his back pocket and walked quietly inside, dropping the Cloak softly on the floor. Malfoy heard him and turned, cheeks turning pink when he saw who it was, and looked down before turning back around.

"Hey," said Harry, walking over to Malfoy and sitting a few feet away.

"_How _do you always find me?"

Harry laughed lightly. "Last time was an accident, I swear." Malfoy looked at him and raised a brow.

"So this time wasn't?"

_Oh. Damn. _Harry smiled guiltily and Malfoy rolled his eyes and looked away again.

"Well, at least you know I really do want to help," he said softly. Malfoy made no response to this other than shifting his legs a bit. Harry took a breath. "I thought that—er—you could talk to me about, you know . . . how it all started. That would be a good first step, right?" Malfoy glared at him and Harry recoiled a bit but didn't look away.

"No," Malfoy said sharply. "That wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because it didn't start anywhere. There's nothing to talk about."

Harry scoffed. "Well, that's a load of bullshit if I ever heard one."

"You know what? Fuck you, Potter!" Malfoy stood up and glared at him. "You're not the only one who can be perfect! Maybe everyone's just overreacting, ever think of that? Maybe there's nothing wrong with me! Maybe I like the way I am!"

Harry stood up now and pierced Malfoy with a stare so fierce that his mask slipped for a second. But only a second.

"Or _maybe_ you _don't_ like yourself," he said. He wasn't sure where that had come from, but it sounded right. Malfoy thought he was fat, so obviously he thought very little of himself. Now all Harry had to do was get Malfoy to accept that and then he could _actually _start helping him.

_Well, that should be easy_, he thought sardonically.

"Maybe you think so _little_ of yourself that your self-image is completely twisted and _this _is how you deal with it."

"You've no idea what you're talking about," said Malfoy through clenched teeth.

"You know what, Malfoy? I think I've hit the nail on the head." Harry was getting angry and he didn't know why. Accompanying that anger, however, was a sense of passion that he hadn't felt since his determination to kill Voldemort. He wanted so badly to show Malfoy how wrong he was. That he _did_ have issues because anyone in their right mind could see that he was . . . well, he was beautiful, okay? It wasn't cheating to think someone was beautiful, was it? Of course not. Especially if this person really _was_beautiful. How was Harry supposed to help that? And, okay, so it made it worse if Malfoy had a crush on him—which Harry wasn't sure about—but it wasn't like Harry liked him back!

"I think you should leave, Potter."

Harry sighed heavily. "What happened to what you said yesterday? About wanting my help?"

"I . . . changed my mind . . ." said Malfoy, finally looking away from Harry. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Right. Well I'll be here the same time tomorrow night. You should come." Malfoy didn't respond so Harry, with another sigh, turned to grab his Cloak and left the bathroom. He wished the empty feeling in his gut would go away. There was no way he'd be sleeping much tonight.

* * *

><p>Draco sank against a wall and let his head fall back against it. He hated the way he always lost his goddamn mind around Potter. He'd <em>wanted <em>to talk to him. In fact, he'd been secretly thrilled when the boy had walked into the bathroom. Unfortunately, it was also habit to yell at Potter. Specifically when he brought up sensitive topics.

Draco didn't think he had a problem, but he knew he cared more than most—boys, at least—about his body. And he knew that this was because of his parents. But the last thing he wanted to talk to _Potter_ about was his parents. Whichever way you looked at it that would end badly. And Potter would surely start bad-mouthing and blaming his parents. It _wasn't _their fault. Draco was adamant about this. It was _his _fault for not living up to the Malfoy standard.

Still, as glad as he was to have avoided that topic, he desperately wished Potter was still there with him. And he hated himself for that, because he hated feeling dependent in any way on another person. If only Potter wasn't so alluring. Something about him drew Draco in.

It may have been his eyes. They were soulful and haunted and _caring _and they gave Draco butterflies.

And he wanted them to himself. Just for a little bit. He wanted to know how it felt to have Potter look at him like he'd looked at Goldstein in the corridor.

In all honesty, Draco wasn't sure that was possible. But he could at least monopolize some of Potter's attention. And the only way to do that, he supposed, would be to come back to the bathroom tomorrow and talk to Potter. To try and open up—just a bit.


	8. Chapter 8

_As always, thank you for the reviews. Enjoy the chapter!_

_Thanks to _themaohour _for beta-ing. :)_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Eight_

Harry had his hands fisted in Anthony's curly brown hair as the boy sucked Harry's cock like he was being paid to do it. He was particularly good at deep-throating, and he seemed to be doing a lot of that right now. But every time he would sense Harry coming too close to the edge he'd let up again. Harry was sure he would accidentally rip Anthony's curls out before he even had a chance to orgasm.

"An-Anthony," he gasped, tugging harder still because he simply couldn't help it. He felt Anthony hum around his cock, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on a pillow. Then the wet heat was gone, replaced by a long stripe licked up the underside of his cock before it was engulfed again. And Harry lost it completely. He shouted out unintelligibly as pulse after pulse of come coated the back of Anthony's throat, and he swallowed it like the expert he had become.

Anthony crawled up his body to kiss him and Harry, though he never liked that very much (how could someone like the taste of their own spunk?), kissed him back because that had been one of the most amazing blowjobs he'd ever received. Not that he had much to compare it to; only Ginny, and that had been a disaster because, well, he was gay.

Harry wrapped his hand around Anthony's still-hard cock and got him off quickly. He was tired from a particularly grueling Quidditch practice and, though he was horribly ashamed to admit it given the current situation, eager to get to the Prefects' bathroom in a few hours. He wasn't positive Malfoy would show up, but he had hope.

"That was amazing," Harry said, absently petting Anthony's hair as the boy lay cuddled up to his side, his breathing slowly evening out.

"Thanks," Anthony laughed. "I should probably get going, though. I have to finish up that paper for Potions that's due tomorrow."

Normally, this really bugged Harry: that Anthony put school literally before _everything_. Sometimes it would have been nice to have him stay overnight. Even on school nights. But Anthony would never hear it. Tonight, however, he was guiltily thankful because that meant he could skip any awkward questions that would have resulted if he'd had to kick him out.

"Yeah, all right," he sighed, attempting to sound put out. Anthony smirked and kissed him lightly on the lips. Harry smiled into it and, for extra effect, held him there for a few seconds before letting him go. As he watched Anthony don his clothing in the otherwise empty dorm room he wondered briefly if it was bad that he felt like he was lying by being so affectionate tonight. He decided it wasn't, given that he was just keen to help Malfoy out. That wasn't a bad thing, was it? Of course not. He was merely saving Anthony the trouble of becoming suspicious about something that he didn't need to be suspicious about. If he thought Anthony wouldn't be incredibly upset about the fact that it was Malfoy, Harry would tell him. He _would_.

"'Night, Harry." Anthony leaned over the bed and gave Harry another sweet kiss before leaving the room. Harry couldn't help imagining what would happen if Malfoy walked down there into the Gryffindor common room alone.

Something akin to gang rape, probably.

Harry sighed and stood up, stretched, then checked his watch. Nearly eleven. The other boys would probably start heading up in the next hour or so. It was Sunday night, after all, and they'd found it was always best to get to sleep early in preparation for Monday mornings. Especially considering they had Potions first thing.

Harry, however, knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep. At least, he hoped he wouldn't, if things went as planned. He was going to go down to the bathroom around a quarter to one, and if Malfoy showed up he would try to get him to talk for as long as he could. Even if it meant staying up until dawn.

To be honest, he thought that sounded rather nice. Talking to Malfoy in the Prefects' bathroom until the sun rose. Maybe he could really get something good out of him if they did that.

Best not to get his hopes up, though. He knew it would be a miracle if Malfoy gave him half an hour of genuine talking.

Nearly two hours later Harry was walking across the marble floor of the Prefects' bathroom to sit by the edge of the tub. He wasn't sure how long he would wait. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? An hour? Probably not an hour. If one-thirty came and went he would go back to his dorm. As of now, though, he still had a good ten minutes until one o'clock.

He had a horrible feeling in his gut that this was pointless. Malfoy had made it pretty clear last night that he didn't want to talk. Even so, Harry couldn't help coming here and hoping that he'd be wrong.

He began to wonder what he would say if Malfoy _did_ show up. Harry had never been good at this stuff. It was Hermione that knew how to decipher emotions and talk to people. He desperately wished he could tell her about this, but he knew better. She wouldn't like it, and although she was trustworthy, he wasn't one hundred percent positive she wouldn't let it slip to Ron, even if it was an accident. And that would be catastrophic.

So what to say to a person who may have a crush on you, or else may hate your guts? Someone as frightfully thin as Malfoy who thinks they're fat? Someone so emotionally unstable?

Harry was so busy contemplating these thoughts that he didn't hear the door open or the footsteps indicating someone else's presence. He only turned his head to look at Malfoy when the boy sat down next to him, dangling his legs over the edge of the tub and looking vacantly into its depth. He didn't look back at Harry even when Harry stared at him for several seconds.

And then—

"The first time I tried to gag myself I was thirteen."

Harry remained silent, afraid that if he spoke he might shatter the tranquility of the moment and Malfoy would leave. Instead, he looked back into the tub and nodded, letting Malfoy know that he was listening. That he cared, but that he wouldn't interrupt. His heart was pounding against his ribcage in anticipation.

"It didn't work. I didn't know what I was doing. I shoved a finger down my throat, gagged, and pulled it back out.

"The next time I was fourteen. It hardly worked. It was the first time I'd been 'fucked and chucked'." He made air quotations around the phrase and rolled his eyes. "A Durmstrang student. I only got a little bit that time. It was disgusting. It got on my hand and my face and the taste stayed on my tongue for too long." Malfoy shook his head, as though remembering that taste and trying to rid himself of it.

Harry was having a hard time processing this information. So he was definitely gay, then . . . and from what it sounded like, he'd gotten around, and not only that, he'd been dumped on his arse quite a bit. Harry couldn't imagine _who_ this might have happened with, where Malfoy had found them, or . . . Harry resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't understand who would drop Malfoy like that. If they'd bedded him, they clearly didn't have too much of a problem with the negative sides of his personality (which, admittedly, weren't nearly as pronounced as they once were), and anyone with eyes could see that he was gorgeous.

"The first time it really worked was the night I received the Dark Mark." Harry closed his eyes momentarily and reopened them, resisting the urge to say anything. "I was so . . . relieved. It was like I'd fulfilled one of my parents' goals for me.

"But then that night I was looking at myself in the mirror, looking at the Mark, and I just . . . I've always hated my body. Ever since . . . But this time was so different. I could feel the food in my stomach and it was like my body was laughing at me." Malfoy had, subconsciously it seemed, wrapped his arms around himself. Harry wanted so badly to hold him. And he couldn't even bring himself to be properly disgusted with himself for wanting that. "So I stuck my toothbrush down my throat and I . . . It was really hard at first. Keeping it down. But it worked and it felt amazing. And for the first time I felt like I had control of something in my life."

"You've been doing it since then?" Harry asked quietly. Malfoy shook his head.

"There were times I wouldn't eat at all. And then I wouldn't feel like I had to throw up as much. Sixth year. I didn't eat a lot that year. But then there were times that I would binge. Just because I could. Not because I wanted to eat it. Because I got a thrill out of vomiting afterwards."

It didn't make one bit of sense to Harry, but the way Malfoy talked about it sounded almost reverent. It was scary.

"After the war Pansy and Blaise confronted me. They'd noticed. And for a few months I started eating more — without vomiting — but I hated it. I would get . . . I got panic attacks a lot. I could feel the food in my stomach again. So when we came back here this year and they stopped badgering me . . . I just kind of slipped back into it." For the first time since he'd come into the bathroom he looked at Harry and Harry looked back. "I don't understand why everyone lies to me," he said, and Harry saw tears welling up in his eyes. "If everyone is really so worried, why not tell me to lose weight in a healthy way? It's not like I don't know you're all lying."

Harry stared at him for another few moments, enthralled by the horrifying sincerity in Malfoy's eyes. God, he _honestly_ thought he was fat.

Harry stood up and extended a hand to Malfoy. "Stand up," he said. Malfoy took his hand uncertainly and allowed himself to be lifted on shaky legs. His eyes went wide when Harry promptly removed his shirt, letting it drop to the ground. He didn't miss the way Malfoy's eyes raked over his body, but he determinedly ignored the stirring in his groin that this produced.

He took both of Malfoy's hands and pressed them against his abs, over his ribs. Malfoy was stock-still.

"Do you feel my ribs?"

"A little," Malfoy whispered. Harry nodded and pulled Malfoy's hands away, then proceeded to push them under Malfoy's own shirt and press them against his own jutting ribs.

He was satisfied when a single tear trailed down his cheek.

"Do you feel _your_ ribs?"

Malfoy nodded.

"More than mine?"

Another nod. He let go of Malfoy's hands and they fell away limply.

"You're too skinny," he said softly. Malfoy shook his head.

"I—"

"You what?" he said a little too harshly. "How can you say you're fat when you just felt your ribs for yourself? Do you wanna look at your spine in the mirror? Do you wanna compare our wrists? Look at your face. Your cheeks are hollow." Malfoy looked down and Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling awful for making him feel bad. But it was what he had to do, so he didn't take anything back. Not that he could. He'd made his point. "Do you believe me?"

"I . . . kind of. I suppose." He looked uncertain. "But I don't understand why. I don't see it myself . . ."

Harry growled in frustration and he noticed Malfoy flinch.

"How can you work on getting better if you don't think there's anything to work on?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. Harry had never seen Malfoy look so vulnerable. It was oddly endearing. He thought he could definitely get used to it. "I guess I can't."

"No, it's okay," Harry amended quickly with a sigh. "We'll figure something out." That statement had sounded very absolute and he wasn't nearly ready to give this up yet. Malfoy looked up at him and there was the smallest hint of hope in his eyes. "We'll talk. Talking helps. It _does_," he said in response to Malfoy's look of uncertainty.

"'Kay," he said softly, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"Really?"

Malfoy scoffed good-naturedly. "Yes, Potter, _really_. I'll . . . see you tomorrow night, then?"

Harry merely nodded and watched as Malfoy left the bathroom.

That had gone better than expected. _Much_ better, in fact, even though they had only talked for around fifteen minutes. They were going to meet again! This was excellent. Not even the small part of his brain that was trying to make him feel guilty for what he'd done could douse his good mood.

He looked down at himself, at his bare chest, and laughed. That had been a rather spur-of-the-moment decision. Possibly not a good one if Malfoy's face and his own reaction were anything to go by, but still. It had worked, hadn't it? Kind of? Malfoy was now more willing to at least _try_ to get somewhere with this.

Harry gathered his shirt and his Cloak and left the bathroom with a smile still playing on his face.

* * *

><p>The next night, at one o'clock, Harry went down to the Prefects' bathroom again. He felt an impulsive urge to get in the water, so he drew a bath, and ten minutes later, just as he was slipping into the water in only his boxers, Malfoy walked in.<p>

"I hope you don't expect me to join you," he drawled. Harry smirked and removed his glasses, placing them carefully on the side. To his astonishment, Malfoy picked them up and put them instead on a marble bench against one of the walls.

"Thanks," he said, his voice full of shock. Malfoy shrugged. Despite his reluctance to get in the water he still sat at the very edge, cross-legged, and Harry came over to the side and put his arms up on the wall, resting his cheek in them and grinning sideways at Malfoy. The boy raised an eyebrow and looked away. Harry thought it was adorable.

But he quickly quashed that thought, hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn't too noticeable.

"So," he began with a cheeky smile.

"So what?"

"Sooo," he repeated, pushing away from the wall and moving to the center of the tub where the water came up to just below his nipples. He folded his arms. "So you told me a little bit about the history of this whole . . . thing yesterday." Malfoy blushed. "But you didn't tell me how it started."

Malfoy looked down at his lap where his hands were resting. "Well, that's kind of a long story. . . ."

Harry made a show of checking his watch then brought his hands back down into the water and moved them back and forth lazily, still sporting his cheeky grin. "Well, good thing we have plenty of time."

Malfoy sighed. "Look, Potter, this is . . . you can't get angry."

Harry's eyebrows drew together in confusion and he stopped moving his arms. "What? Why would I get angry?"

"Just . . . This is about _me_. Not . . . not anyone else." Harry was still confused, but he nodded all the same. Malfoy began fidgeting with his fingers and didn't look up when he spoke again. "When I was younger — ever since I can remember, really — my parents put a lot of emphasis on appearance."

_Ah. His parents._ Well, he couldn't say he was entirely surprised. The Malfoys _did_ seem like they would be those kinds of people. It didn't make it any less infuriating, though. He wondered if they'd known they'd driven their son to this extent.

"My mother — she would always tell me, 'Remember to suck in your tummy, Draco.' And she fussed over my hair and my complexion and my hands and my nails and . . . everything." He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. "_Everything_. Sometimes my father would hint that the Hogwarts food was making me fat—"

"What?" Harry practically yelled. He'd been brought up on that food. "He _what_?"

"I told you not to do that!"

Harry slapped the water but remained silent, though he was fuming. Lucius Malfoy. What a _prick_. He looked up to find that Malfoy's cheeks were flaming and he looked flustered. Harry felt suddenly ashamed for having reacted like that, and he let his facial features soften.

"I'm sorry. Go on."

And for the next hour and a half Harry waded around in the water listening, several times resisting the urge to hit something, sometimes coming close to the wall and silently watching Malfoy speak, and other times floating on his back and letting Malfoy's voice wash over him. There were silences where Malfoy would seem to compose himself after having divulged difficult information, or else where he would simply reflect. Harry would never interrupt these silences, not only out of courtesy but because it was fascinating to watch the blond think. He'd come to terms with the fact that he thought Malfoy was absolutely stunning — there was no way around that. It still left a little pit in his stomach because, for some reason, it felt like cheating to even think that. He tried to ignore it. Malfoy was nice to look at, so he indulged himself.

A few times he wondered how he'd never noticed before, but then Malfoy would start speaking again and he would forget that train of thought.

Harry learned a lot about the Malfoy family. Lucius thought Draco was too feminine and he'd often made comments about it. Draco secretly liked that about himself — he'd blushed when he'd admitted this and refused to look at Harry — but he'd never dared tell his father that. Lucius also hadn't known he was gay. Hadn't known that his son had slept with a total of five men, only one of them at school. The others, Harry learned, had taken place on family holidays and arbitrary outings during the summer or other breaks when they'd stayed at the Manor.

Malfoy admitted to Harry that all the men he'd slept with had treated him like a girl, like he was delicate. "Although that didn't mean they'd been gentle," he'd said. (Harry had blushed furiously at this, thankful he was in the water because his cock had given a very interested twitch). He had concluded that this could have been part of the reason he was so obsessed with his body.

At around a quarter to three, after a silence that had lasted a good ten minutes, Malfoy said, "I should get to bed."

Harry nodded and pulled himself out of the tub. Malfoy turned to say something to him — presumably a goodbye — but Harry had a better idea. He smirked wickedly to himself and took the few steps that would close the distance between himself and Malfoy.

Malfoy's eyes went wide but he wasn't quick enough — Harry engulfed him in a wet hug before he could escape.

"Potter!" he shrieked, wiggling incessantly to get away. Harry laughed and gave him one last squeeze before pulling away. "You absolute bar_barian_!" Draco's white dress shirt was soaked through and the thighs of his trousers were damp. Harry snorted.

"'Night, Malfoy," he said with a wink. He felt a rush of joy when, instead of whipping out his wand, Malfoy merely shook his head, visibly holding back a smirk. He did take out his wand then, but only to dry his clothes. He gave Harry the closest thing he'd ever given him to a real smile before leaving the bathroom.

Harry felt the crazy urge to do a victory dance, but settled on a simple, wide smile instead.


	9. Chapter 9

_Bit of an angsty chapter. Enjoy!_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Nine _

Draco sat in Potions with his back rigid, trying and failing to listen to the professor's lecture on Mandrake Draught, the potion Madam Pomfrey had used in their second year to revive the petrified students. Under normal circumstances, Draco would have found this very interesting, not only because he liked Potions, but because the theory itself _was_interesting.

These weren't normal circumstances, though. Because Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him. He could physically feel it, as though it wasn't Potter's eyes raking over his skin but the boy's hands. He thought that if it were possible to burst into flames, he would have.

He couldn't decide if Anthony Goldstein being in the class made it better or worse. Worse because he sat directly next to Potter and that caused a horrible jealous feeling to boil in the pit of Draco's stomach; better because Potter was actually ignoring his boyfriend in favor of staring at Draco.

He remembered the wet hug from last night and the cheeky grin Potter had worn and decided that it was definitely better.

This conclusion was made all the more resolute when, just before Potter stood up at the end of class and grabbed his boyfriend's hand, he stole a glance at Draco and smirked as he turned away. A flush spread across Draco's cheeks and seemed to sink into his very skin, making his stomach coil, and reached all the way down to his groin. Draco was fairly certain he'd never been so turned on by a mere look before.

"What's got _you _all hot and bothered?"

Draco whipped around to find Pansy staring at him with an eyebrow raised. He flushed, if possible, harder than before and swiftly grabbed his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. She followed him from the room, the expression on her face indicating she'd just realized she'd stumbled onto a puzzle. Perhaps a more astute friend might have realized there was a puzzle a long time ago, but Pansy never _had _been particularly bright. He only hoped her lack of intelligence kept her from putting the pieces of this puzzle together now that she'd finally recognized it.

"What are you on about?" he drawled.

"You look like you've just got done wanking." She laughed when he shot her an incredulous look. "Well, you _do_. Who were ya lookin' at?"

"I wasn't _looking _at anyone," he hissed, hoping she wouldn't notice the blush on his cheeks deepen. From the looks of it she had because her smile widened.

"Oh, come off it. Just tell me! It's not a big deal."

"You're encroaching on dangerous territory, Pans," he whispered without looking at her. They entered the Ancient Runes classroom together and took their usual seats in the middle. "Drop it," he added once they'd settled in.

"Only if you promise to tell me later."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine," he hissed. "But shut your gab for now." He saw her smirk but she remained silent for the rest of the class period, only shooting him subtle glances once in a while, presumably to check if he was ogling anyone again.

When lunch rolled around, Draco felt his stomach tighten, as it always did when the prospect of food or meals came up.

"I have . . . a paper to finish," he said lamely, ignoring the brief feel of Blaise's eyes on his back as the boy passed him and Pansy outside the Defense classroom. He knew Pansy didn't believe him, but he wasn't going to tell her the truth, regardless of whether or not she knew it anyway. The sad look she gave him made his stomach clench. She nodded.

"Right. I'll — er — see you in Charms, then?"

"Yeah. See you."

Draco watched her go with the feeling that a hand had wrapped around his heart and was squeezing it tightly. Nevertheless he made his slow way to the Prefects' bathroom once she'd left, deciding that he'd spend the period there instead of his dorm. He didn't feel like being locked away in there. Besides, the loo had grown on him in the past few days.

He stepped inside and found himself smiling involuntarily, picturing Potter — with his gorgeous body and adorable smile — wading around in the tub last night.

Draco was in there for only fifteen minutes when he was interrupted.  
>The moment he turned and saw Potter walk inside, cheeky grin in place, a realization slammed into him like a Bludger to the head.<p>

He had a massive crush on this boy.

Potter sat with him in that bathroom for the entire lunch hour. He never brought up what they'd spoken about last night, though; in fact, he'd spent most of the time ranting about how he'd expected to do better in Potions without Snape breathing down his neck, but he was equally as rubbish now as he had been then. Perhaps a bit less angry and nervous all the time, but still. The way he laughed at himself was entirely too charming.

"And I don't understand the first thing about this Mandrake stuff," he said with a roll of his eyes. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hands out behind him. Draco sat on the marble bench, his legs crossed as well, smirking down at Potter as he spoke. "I mean, hey, it's not like we need the stuff, right? I got rid of the Basilisk that was doing the petrifying anyway." He winked at Draco and Draco just couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed by Potter's arrogance. Mostly because it was clearly not real. But also because it happened to be kind of cute.

"Your modesty is inspiring," Draco drawled. Potter gave him a half-smile that sent butterflies whirring around in his stomach.

"Merlin, I have Herbology next," Potter said with a sigh, lowering himself the rest of the way to the ground so he was on his back with his legs still crossed.

"Yes, well I have Arithmancy, so try not to feel too bad for yourself."

Potter laughed. "Hermione takes that. She loves it."

"What class _doesn't _she love?"

Potter sat up again on his hands and smirked. "She hated Divination."

Draco scoffed. "Well that's a stupid class. I don't blame her. Do you still take it?"

"No," he chuckled. "Ron and I dropped it for this year. I took up Muggle Studies instead. It's required now to be an Auror."

"You want to be an Auror?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Still?"

"Well, yeah. I always have." Potter looked confused at this question and Draco was doubly surprised. He'd figured that after the war Potter would have had his fill of that kind of thing. Apparently not.

"Even after the war? That's still what you wanna do?"

Draco was taken by surprise when Harry smiled. "Just because I've had my fill of running around destroying pieces of an evil Dark lord's soul doesn't mean I don't still enjoy helping people and putting criminals in their place." He grinned and Draco blushed and looked down.

"Looking forward to capturing leftover Death Eaters?" Draco mumbled. He heard Potter stand up and come to sit down next to him on the bench, but he didn't look up.

"Not really. I was kind of hoping anyone left would be over that by now and willing to change."

That had "subtext" written all over it and Draco felt himself flushing. He chanced a look up at Potter only to find that there were two bright green eyes surveying him.

"Dark Marks don't go away," he said, forcing himself to stare back. Potter lifted his fringe to expose the scar on his forehead and Draco allowed his eyes to wander over it greedily because, really, he never had before. He'd been too busy pretending like he didn't care.

"Neither do scars. Doesn't mean I have to continue leading a huge revolt against evil."

Draco gave him a look as if to say, "That's not the same thing and you know it." And then he looked looked away.

He was entirely unprepared to feel Potter's hand under his chin, turning his face so that he was once again faced with those green eyes.

"I don't hold it against you," Harry said softly. Draco eyed him for a moment before looking away and heaving another sigh.

"That's 'cause you're a Gryffindor."

Potter laughed. It was a soft, sweet laugh that made Draco smile without thinking about it.

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't see you complaining."

How was it that Potter had become so incredibly charming? Or had he always been? Draco doubted it, but he didn't dismiss the possibility that he could be wrong. After all, he _had _spent the past seven years only looking for things about Potter to hate.

And _why oh why _was it starting to feel so lousy calling him 'Potter'?

"Trust me," he said sourly, hoping Potter hadn't seen any emotions flitting across his face during that moment of pause, "there's plenty of complaining going on inside my head."

Potter laughed again, this time louder, and he shook his head as he stood up. He looked down at Draco and held both hands out. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you up?"

No, Potter had definitely never been this charming.

Draco took both hands and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He'd expected Potter to move backwards and make more room, because he was standing fairly close in order to have grabbed Draco's hands, but he didn't; he stayed rooted to the spot, and as a result when Draco stood up his chest came within centimeters of Potter's . . . as did their faces. Draco's eyes were wide and entirely exposed as Potter stared into them, his hands still grasping Draco's loosely.

"You know, when you're not being a prick it's easier to see what those other guys did," Potter whispered. Draco felt his breath hitch.

It was just a quick flick of his eyes, but Draco saw it. Potter looked down at his lips and it left Draco flushed and hard and unmoving when Potter finally slipped away and out the door of the bathroom.

Okay, so he'd essentially told Malfoy he found him attractive. So what? Malfoy was smart. He wouldn't read too far into it. Right? And Harry still wasn't entirely sure Malfoy had a crush on him.

_Yeah right_, a voice inside his head said sarcastically. He frowned. _Malfoy's got a thing for you and you know it._

Harry had seen the way Malfoy was looking at him. He'd noticed the way he flushed whenever Harry would smile and he heard his breathing become slightly erratic when he'd pulled Malfoy so close to him.

And, truth be told, that was why he'd done it. Because he'd wanted to see what would happen. Because a sick part of him was incredibly turned on by Malfoy and the thought that maybe Malfoy was turned on by him too.

He also knew, though, that he couldn't keep doing that. Not only was he with Anthony, but he was supposed to be helping Malfoy. Not teasing him and deriving his own pleasure out of the times they were together. Although just looking at Malfoy recently — what with the way he'd been looking so open and vulnerable — felt indecent. Harry simply couldn't help wondering what all that pale skin would taste like.

"Harry!"

Harry whipped his head around so fast that he heard his neck crack. He hissed and rubbed at it carefully.

"Yeah?" he croaked, making sure to turn his head slowly this time. Ron had an eyebrow raised and Hermione was stifling a laugh.

"Good daydream?"

"What, Ron?" Harry said curtly.

"Nothing. I was just trying to snap you out of it."

Harry rolled his eyes and sank back into his chair. He felt Hermione eyeing him, though Ron had gone back to his homework. They'd been working in the common room for about two hours now, and Harry guessed he must have drifted off a good ten minutes ago, given how funny Ron and Hermione seemed to find it.

"So," Hermione said lightly, but Harry heard an undertone of deep curiosity mixed into that one word. His eyebrows dipped. "Where'd you disappear to during lunch?"

"What?"

"You weren't at lunch."

"I told you: I wasn't hungry so I went to the library to fix up the essay for History of Magic."

"Anthony said you'd finished it."

"Right. Which is why I was _fixing it up_." Harry knew his guarded tone would give him away but he couldn't help it! Nor could he help the blush that was spreading like wildfire across his face.

Fuck.

"Since when do you fix up essays?" Ron asked, and to Harry's surprise he looked just as strangely curious as Hermione.

"Since this afternoon."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other and Harry's fists balled up. What were they getting at?

"Harry," Hermione said slowly, cautiously, and it reminded him of fifth year when they'd been tiptoeing around him. He suddenly felt a flash of anger and held back from screaming by some incredible burst of willpower. "Please just tell us where you went. Where you've been _going_."

"Going?" he said sharply. It had slipped out. They couldn't possibly know about . . . ?

"At night," Ron clarified, though he wasn't meeting Harry's eyes. And he was bright red. "I heard you the other night. And Seamus and Dean said they've heard you lately. And then lunch today —"

"Why didn't you come to me before consulting Hermione?" Harry was getting very angry indeed and he knew it. He could feel it. And he was only holding onto it by the skin of his teeth.

"I wanted to make sure I wasn't looking too much into it." Ron and Hermione shared another glance and Harry seethed. "But then you left for lunch today —"

"We're not angry, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "But we would like to know if you're . . ." She stopped and bit her lip. Harry wasn't quite sure if he was ready to hear whatever ridiculous accusation they'd come up with.

_But what if they knew about Malfoy? _His heart began to race.

"Are you cheating on Anthony?"

Harry's stomach both clenched further and unclenched at the same time, if that was possible. They were wrong, after all. But a part of him, that part that was beginning to wonder what Malfoy might look like naked on Harry's bed, thought differently.

"No," he said, trying to sound offended at the very thought. He knew he'd failed. Hermione didn't look convinced. Neither did Ron. "I'm not! I'm . . ."

"You're what?" Hermione asked sadly, almost as though Harry were about to spew out some horrible excuse and she was disappointed.

He sighed. He'd have to tell them. It was better than them thinking he was cheating on Anthony and then telling _him_. Besides, how bad could this turn out? It wasn't a crime to help someone who needed help.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm helping Malfoy." Ron and Hermione stared at him. "I was in the Owlery the other night and I saw him and . . . and he agreed to let me help him. With his eating thing, that is."

"His . . . eating thing?" Hermione said slowly, looking both disgusted at Harry for his crude wording and very disturbed by the implications of the crude statement itself.

"_Helping _him?" said Ron. "What?"

"It's a not a big deal," Harry heard himself saying. It sounded weak even to his own ears. "He thinks he's fat, you guys. It's actually a lot worse than I thought when we heard Zabini say that stuff to him. He needs help."

"I don't think you're the one to give it to him, Harry," said Hermione. She sounded a bit out of breath.

"Wait." Ron held up a hand. "Why would you want to in the first place? I don't understand. Am I missing something?"

"No, I just . . . it felt like the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do?" Ron looked offended. "Harry, do you even realize who you're talking about? Malfoy's a slimy traitor! If he's miserable he deserves it!"

"Now, Ron," Hermione started, but Harry cut her off.

"That's really good of you," he spat. "Aren't we all supposed to be working toward getting along? Shouldn't it be, I don't know . . . an example, or something? Me working to help Malfoy?"

"It's wonderful, Harry, I think what Ron is trying to say is just . . . Well, it seems so unlikely that you could have gotten over that enmity so quickly. Especially enough to be able to help him —"

"So you don't think I'm capable of that, is what you're saying."

Hermione stopped looking worried and became cross.

"That's not what we're saying at all," she said stiffly. "We're just wondering what . . . other motivations you might have since doing it just for Malfoy's benefit seems extremely unlikely. It's not just you, Harry. If anyone in this _room_ suddenly decided to do it we'd be suspicious. You just happen to have an even more unpleasant background than most with Malfoy so it's even _harder _to believe."

"Well, it's true, so I suggest you two get over it."

Harry folded his arms and looked away, but he could still see Ron and Hermione share yet another glance.

"Does Anthony know?"

"Why does it matter?" he said sharply. And he knew it was because he was already feeling guilty, but he couldn't help it. He still felt betrayed. Ron and Hermione should have just stayed out of it.

"It just seems like something your boyfriend should know," said Hermione. "Besides, he's been worried lately, too. Especially after today. He suspects you're seeing someone, as well."

"What?" Harry's arms dropped and he frowned at his friends. "He thinks I'm cheating on him?"

"I'm not sure he thinks you're _cheating _on him . . ."

"I think he's just worried," said Ron. "You should tell him what's really up." He looked back down at his essay and added under his breath, "Not that it's much better . . ."

"You know, I would have thought you two would be happy I'm doing this, and at least give me your support even if you don't." Harry stood up and headed toward the portrait hole. When he got there he looked back and added, "You can tell _Anthony _he doesn't have to worry anymore."

It was only eleven and Malfoy wouldn't show up in the bathroom for several hours, if he did at all. Harry still wasn't one hundred per cent positive Malfoy was serious about this. He kept expecting him to back out.

Away from the actual scene of the conflict, Harry felt less mad at Ron and Hermione. He knew they were only confused and worried. Still, though. It was irritating that they couldn't just . . . be happy or something.

He was happy.

And as he entered the Prefects' bathroom, ready to wait several hours before Malfoy would show up, he realized just _how_ happy he was about this.


	10. Chapter 10

_Since I'm a huge BITCH and haven't updated in literally a week, I've decided to make up for it by posting two chapters at once. Yep. Two chapters. That means when you're finished with this chapter, you'll be able to click the 'next' button and promptly read chapter eleven. Isn't that exciting?_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Ten_

Harry had been very soothed by Malfoy's presence Tuesday night after he'd had that little row with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy had opened up a bit more, telling him more in detail about how bad sixth year had been, and Harry had very nearly forgotten his problems by the time four o'clock had rolled around. Indeed, he hadn't even noticed they'd been there for so long. Malfoy had spent a lot of time describing a particularly long month when he'd gone without eating for twenty of the thirty-one days and described his introduction to dry-heaving. It was that experience that had pushed him back into the habit of eating-and-purging more often than simply not eating. Harry had been horrified. He'd said nothing.

They'd seen each other Wednesday and were planning on meeting again tonight, but not at one o'clock like usual. Malfoy had asked Harry if he wouldn't mind going earlier, though he wouldn't tell Harry why. Harry hadn't pushed much; after all, he was getting enough information out of Malfoy as it was.

It was the thought of seeing Malfoy in an hour's time that had Harry smiling unconsciously as he, Anthony, Ron, and Hermione left dinner.

"Ron and I are going to the library," Hermione told them, taking Ron's hand and dragging him toward the stairs. She and Ron had mostly let the fight go. They hadn't mentioned it other than Hermione telling Harry that he could do what he wanted, and that they weren't upset, just confused and a little anxious about it. Harry had told her (and he assumed she'd told Ron) that he understood, but he didn't care, that he was still going to do this.

He thought Ron or Hermione must have said something to Anthony, as well, because he'd been a bit standoffish all day.

"All right, see you later," Harry said as they walked away. He felt Anthony grab his hand and begin leading him toward the stairs as well, though at a much slower pace. Students rushed around them and Harry found himself looking for Malfoy. He didn't find him.

"So, Harry," said Anthony, and Harry knew exactly where this was going. He sighed, not bothering to hide it. Anthony raised a brow. "I take it you know what I'm going to say?"

"What did Ron and Hermione say to you?"

Anthony pursed his lips in thought for a moment before saying, "Hermione told me you'd decided to take on Malfoy as a project."

Harry's face scrunched up in quite apparent disgust. Anthony must have noticed because he blushed.

"He's not a _project_."

"I'm sorry," Anthony said, looking truly apologetic. "I just don't understand. What made you want to do that?"

Harry shrugged, not entirely placated by Anthony's apology. "He needs help."

"Yes, but since when do _you_ care about helping _Malfoy_?"

"God, I don't know, Anthony," Harry whined. He was already tired of this and it had only happened once with Ron and Hermione. Was this what it was going to be like? Interrogations from his friends _and _his boyfriend every day about what he was doing with Malfoy? Why he was helping him? "It just sort of happened. I ran into him in the Owlery and he just looked really . . . helpless, I don't know. I just felt like I should help him."

Anthony seemed to mull this over for a moment. "And he wants your help?"

Harry peered down at him and stopped them from walking. Was that accusation in his voice? He certainly hoped not, because if Anthony was about to imply that Harry might be cheating on him he was _not _going to be happy.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Anthony's eyebrows rose beneath his hairline. "Exactly what I said. Is there a double-entendre that I'm missing?"

"I don't even know what that means." Never before had Harry found Anthony's vocabulary pretentious or annoying, but he did now. He felt like Anthony was purposely trying to make him look bad. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn't true, but that part of his mind was stored safely away at the moment.

"Is there something going on between you two?" The way he said it made it sound like he'd been wondering, but not expected it to be true. Like he'd planned on asking Harry only to have Harry laugh it off as ridiculous. Harry slipped his hand out of Anthony's and looked at him with his eyebrows drawn.

"Are you joking?"

"I don't know, Harry, should I be? I mean, a couple of days ago you were telling me you loved me after we had sex and now Ron and Hermione are coming to me with the news that you're sneaking off every night to meet with Malfoy. What am I supposed to think?"

"Exactly what I told you!" Harry was very aware that he was losing his temper. And he had_never_ lost his temper around Anthony before. He'd never had reason. Of course, they'd never argued about Malfoy before, and somehow Harry _always _lost his mind when Malfoy was involved. "I'm helping him! Why does that have to mean anything's going on between us?"

"I never said it did," Anthony said quietly, dangerously. It didn't scare Harry, however, only made him angrier. "All _I _asked was why he wanted your help and suddenly you're acting like I've accused you of any number of things!"

"What things?"

"I don't know, Harry, why don't _you_ tell _me_!"

Harry had never lost his temper around Anthony, and he'd never seen Anthony lose his either.

"There's nothing going on between us!" Harry shouted, and though he didn't recognize it consciously, he was trying to convince himself of this fact just as much as Anthony. Had he thought about it, he would have realized why he was getting so angry. But he didn't think about it. Because he didn't want to think about it.

"Then why are you yelling at me?"

"Because you're accusing me of something I didn't do!"

"I'm not _accusing _you of anything, Harry!" Anthony was red in the face and breathing heavily. Harry thought he probably looked similar. "I asked you a question and you blew up in my face!"

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. This was getting him nowhere and it was stupid. He heard Anthony sigh.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you're . . . doing anything behind my back. I was just confused, all right? Can we just . . . let it go? You're helping Malfoy, fine, okay. That's very kind of you. Now I know why you've been disappearing and you know that I trust you. Can we stop fighting?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Anthony, the very picture of a perfect boyfriend, and felt his stomach tighten. This was a shallow truce at best, but he took it.

"Fine," he said, and then sighed. "Yes. Yeah. Okay. I mean, I'm sorry, too." Anthony smiled softly at him and placed a kiss on his lips that didn't give Harry butterflies like it once had.

"Good. I love you. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Hermione wanted to discuss some last-minute details about Ron's party, as well." Harry nodded and kissed Anthony again. They walked together up to the seventh floor where they parted ways, sharing one last goodnight kiss. Harry didn't go to Gryffindor Tower, though. Instead, he turned right back around and headed in the direction of the Prefects' bathroom.

* * *

><p>Draco was incredibly nervous to see Harry. <em>Potter<em>. He was nervous to see _Potter_. Because Potter had, in so many words, told Draco during that lunch hour on Tuesday that he could see what "those other guys" had seen. And Draco still couldn't get over it, even though he'd seen Potter again last night. But what did that even _mean_? Did he find Draco attractive? Did he _like _him? Surely not. He had a boyfriend! And Potter was nothing if not loyal.

But still. He _had _said . . . what he'd said.

He was glad to hear the door opening behind him and Potter stepping inside. He didn't feel like dwelling on this train of thought anymore. He'd much rather just be in Potter's presence and enjoy it.

When he turned to look at him, though, Draco recoiled. Potter looked upset.

"Are you okay?" he asked, astounded by how worried he actually felt. Potter sighed and removed his glasses, then pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

"Yeah. No, I'm fine." He put his glasses back on and when he looked at Draco he smiled. Draco's stomach felt warm and tingly and he blushed. "How are you?" Draco merely shrugged. He hadn't eaten today and he could feel the hunger pains kicking in. "Quidditch is kicking my arse this year." Harry sat down on the bench and began kneading his upper arm. "I've never been this sore from it."

Draco flushed more fiercely than before at the thought of Potter's wonderful biceps. He sat down where he was on the floor and fidgeted with his fingers. Merlin help him, he was nervous!

"It's not been as fun playing Slytherin, you know, without you on the team."

Draco looked up and met Potter's eyes. He was smiling impishly.

"Yeah, well . . . I wasn't really up for Quidditch this year."

Potter stood up then and walked past Draco to the tub, where he turned on the water and a few of the bubble taps. Draco watched with increasing fascination as Potter stripped off his shirt and denims and sat on the side of the tub to wait until it filled.

They were both silent for the next ten minutes until Potter carefully slid into the tub and turned to face Draco, an adorable smile playing on his lips.

"Potter," Draco said slowly.

"Hm?"

"Why did you find me during lunch on Tuesday?"

Potter's face darkened for a moment before he plastered a cheeky grin there instead.

"I don't know . . . I kinda like spending time with you lately, I guess." He waded over to the edge of the tub where Draco was sitting and looked up at him. Draco tried desperately to keep his breathing under control, but having a half-naked, wet Harry Potter this close made that difficult.

"This is insane, do you know that?"

Potter laughed. "Yeah, I know. But when was anything between us ever normal?"

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Never. And it probably never will be." He swallowed thickly. "This is just temporary, remember? You're . . . helping me."

He didn't mean that, of course. He just wanted to know what Potter would have to say to that. He was pleased when he saw the smile fade from his face.

"Has talking helped?" he asked softly, evading the topic fairly well, in Draco's opinion. He would have preferred it if Potter had insisted this wasn't only about "helping" him, but the hurt look on his face would have to do. Plus, he had to be avoiding it for a reason.

Draco opened his mouth to tell Potter that sure, talking had helped, even if it hadn't done much other than give him too many reasons to have become obsessed with Potter.

A loud grumble from his stomach cut him off, though. Potter looked at Draco's stomach while Draco flushed violently and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Sorry," he whispered. Potter only sighed. Draco was taken by surprise when he felt a cold, wet hand grab his arm and yank it away from his body. He wasn't given much time to contemplate what Potter was doing because soon he was being tugged into the tub and the next thing he knew he was breaking the surface of the water, spluttering and pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"POTTER!"

Potter was laughing and Draco was _furious_. God, he must look _atrocious_!

"I can't believe you!" he shouted, wading toward the edge of the tub. "I look . . . I look even _worse_ than usual!" He'd meant that half-sarcastically, but he really did believe that, and he couldn't help saying it aloud. At least then Potter would know that Draco _knew_ how horrible he looked.

Before he could pull himself out of the tub the same hand from before grabbed his arm and spun him around, and then suddenly Potter had him pushed up against the wall of the tub. He looked upset. Draco was having a difficult time catching his breath.

"What are you talking about, you look _worse _than usual?"

Draco determinedly stared back at Potter, trying to express his anger and failing because he was less angry than he was incredibly turned on and embarrassed.

"You don't think you're _ugly _too?" he whispered, and he looked genuinely shocked. Draco swallowed and looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. "Malfoy, I know you think you're fat, but . . . Jesus Christ . . ."

And then suddenly Draco wasn't looking at the water anymore. He was looking at a very distorted version of Potter's face, and he had to be dreaming or _something _because there was just no way Potter was kissing him.

But then Potter's mouth opened slowly and he both heard and felt him take a shaky breath before kissing Draco again. And the only thing Draco could possibly do was let his eyes slip closed and smile like a goof because _Oh my God, Potter was really kissing him and it was absolutely perfect_. His bare chest was heaving against Draco's wet-cloth covered one and his hands had made their way onto Draco's waist and Draco could have sworn he felt the other boy trembling and even if he'd been ready for it he wouldn't have been able to stifle the small whimper that escaped when Potter bit down gently on his lower lip.

Potter must have heard it because he laughed breathlessly and kissed him once more before pulling away and looking into Draco's eyes. He ran his thumb over Draco's lower lip and smiled.

"You're beautiful," he said softly.

All the blood in Draco's body was currently occupying either his cheeks or his cock, and he must have had a lot of blood because he was sure his face was bright red and he was_definitely_harder than he could remember being in a long time.

He wished he could think of something to say, but nothing sounded right. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to form words.

_Merlin, when had he fallen so hard for this boy?_

Potter had placed his hands back on Draco's waist and his thumbs had slipped under the shirt. He was absently rubbing circles onto Draco's hip bones. Draco felt very short of breath.

"Potter . . ." he said, trying to call his attention to the fact that this was extremely intimate, and Draco wasn't sure Potter realized he was doing it. He didn't want him to stop, of course, but neither did he want to be left hard and wanting only for Potter to suddenly come to and run away.

He finally did snap out of his intent stare at Draco's collarbone, but he didn't run. He smiled softly.

"Will you start trying?"

"W-what?"

Potter leaned in and kissed him again very gently, lingering for a moment. Draco rather felt like he'd taken all of Draco's breath with him when he pulled away.

"I know I have a boyfriend, and I know we were . . . sworn enemies or something, but for some reason I care, Malfoy. Maybe it's just that I can't stand to see someone so gorgeous—" and here he pinked but didn't look away, "—calling themselves fat and ugly. I don't know. But I really want you to start trying." Draco opened his mouth to say something but Potter cut him off. "You don't have to eat three meals a day," he said quickly. "Just . . . start off small. Have a piece of toast at breakfast or something and don't puke it up." He stared into Draco's eyes and his grip on Draco's waist tightened. "I'm really gonna help you. I want to. And . . ." He stopped and looked down, seemingly unsure about something. Draco's heart was pounding a mile a minute. When he looked back up he appeared conflicted and yet resolute at the same time. "Do you hate me for kissing you?" he whispered.

Well, that hadn't been what Draco had expected. He nearly laughed.

"No." Potter smiled like a child who'd been presented with a thousand gifts for Christmas. Draco gripped his arms and pulled them off his hips, only to wrap them entirely around his small waist. Potter looked incredulously into his eyes and Draco smiled. "But what about—"

"Anthony doesn't have to know," Potter said breathlessly. And then Draco did one of the bravest things he thought he'd ever done in his life: he leaned forward and kissed Potter again. It was soft and sweet and unhurried and it felt nothing like a forbidden kiss should feel.

"Okay," he said after a moment. Potter opened his eyes and backed away a few centimeters.

"Okay what?"

"I'll really try." And he meant it. For some inglorious reason, he meant it. Potter must have seen this because he grinned maniacally and kissed Draco's cheek. "And to this." He lifted his arms out of the water and hugged Potter around his neck. In return Potter squeezed his waist tightly and pressed their cheeks together.

"You don't care that no one can know?" he whispered against Draco's ear.

Draco bit his lip, contemplating what to say. He knew what Potter meant: that no one could know they were secretly snogging in the Prefects' bathroom.

Of course he cared, but he also knew there was no way around that if he wanted to continue being kissed like that. So he shook his head.

"I don't care."


	11. Chapter 11

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Eleven_

Harry felt good. He felt _really_ good. And this was because he'd figured everything out.

He loved Anthony. Anthony was his boyfriend. He loved his personality and his cute little quirks. He loved being around him and telling him how much he adored him.

Harry was physically attracted to Malfoy. That was it. He was (extremely) attracted to Malfoy and, now that his attitude had simmered down a little and he was easier to be around, Harry liked to spend time with him.

And kiss him. He definitely liked kissing him.

But that was it, and that was why Harry felt so good.

He was a teenager, and teenagers have hormones. That didn't mean he didn't care about Anthony, because he did. And really, why should it matter if he was just fooling around with Malfoy a bit while he was trying to help him feel better about himself? The point _was_that he loved Anthony and he was only physically attracted to Malfoy.

A _tiny_ little niggling thing in his head insisted that he _technically _was cheating on Anthony, but he was able to push that aside by reminding himself that he was entirely devoted to his boyfriend, and not Malfoy.

Of course, he still wouldn't tell anyone. He wasn't stupid. He knew how that would sound.

But still, he felt comfortable in his reasoning, which was why he was able to pull Anthony into a hug and kiss him soundly on the lips when he saw him Friday night walking out of the Great Hall. He hadn't seen him much — only in Potions. Harry had skipped a free period to see Malfoy again.

"Hi," Anthony chuckled, kissing Harry back before pulling away and smiling at him. Harry's stomach clenched and he ignored it. "Good mood?"

Harry grinned down at him. "I'm sorry about last night." He pulled Anthony by the waist up against him and disregarded the stares they received. "I was just a little on edge. Are we okay?"

"We're fine," said Anthony, awarding Harry with a brilliant smile. "Hey, I don't feel like studying tonight. Wanna go . . . cuddle in bed or something?" He smirked at Harry and Harry felt an involuntary smile pull at his lips.

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

><p>Both boys lay in only their boxers, Anthony in Harry's arms, his cheek pressed against Harry's chest. There had been some kind of unspoken understanding that this was all they'd do tonight; they would only lie together and talk.<p>

They'd been talking for quite some time about trivial things such as Quidditch, schoolwork, what they planned to do after they left school, etc. At first it had been an avoidance of the topic that was the elephant in the room — that of Malfoy — but it had gradually turned into mere talking, Malfoy at the back of their minds (or at least Anthony's) for the moment.

They'd been silent for a few minutes when Anthony said, "Do you believe in Fate?"

Harry was momentarily startled. He'd not been expecting a question as large as that from Anthony, especially out of the clear blue.

His brow creased in thought. Fate? Immediately the prophecy came to mind, but he was fairly certain that wasn't what Anthony was talking about. Maybe similar, but not that exactly.

"You mean in the sense that things happen for a reason?"

He felt Anthony shrug. "Yeah. Kinda. I guess. Or that things are supposed to happen. Like . . ." He sat up on his elbow and looked around the room, clearly in thought, as though something might pop out and offer him an example of what he was trying to explain. Finally, he said, "Like it was meant to be that we were both looking for the same book that day when we first started talking this year. You know? Like this — us — isn't just a coincidence, but, I don't know . . . not pre-determined, necessarily, but . . . well, yeah, actually. Pre-_arranged_. Like things are pre-arranged to happen and we follow that path unconsciously."

Harry pursed his lips in thought, feeling like maybe this did relate to prophecies more than he'd thought. Or perhaps hoped.

"I don't think anything is pre-determined," he said, knowing that this was definitely true. Hadn't Dumbledore explained to him — spent the whole of sixth year explaining to him — that nothing was set in stone? That it wasn't because of a prophecy that Harry had to kill Voldemort, but because of his own ambition and _need_to do so? But then, the whole blood thing had kind of twisted their Fates more than that. But that was different, wasn't it? It made his head hurt to think about. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I'd like to think we have a choice in the matter, but a lot of my life has felt very . . . laid out for me, I guess."

Anthony nodded.

"What about you?"

Anthony scrunched his face up in thought for a moment before answering. "Obviously every action produces a reaction, which means everything that happens affects everything else that comes after it. That's what I think, anyway." He paused. "I think I like what you said before — about everything happening for a reason. That makes sense, doesn't it? We were looking for the same book because we were meant to start talking and eventually date. It makes everything a little less unorganized and overwhelming. Like maybe there's some ultimate purpose and we're not just . . . I don't know . . . floating around in space for no reason."

Harry had been about to agree when a thought occurred to him: what about bad situations? Did this theory apply to them as well? Had his parents died for a reason? Had Voldemort picked him for some cosmic reason? Had Fred and Lupin and Tonks and Cedric and Dumbledore and all the others died for a _reason_? And if so, what reason could that possibly be?

"What about things like death? Like all the people who died in the war?" he said, gazing intently at Anthony. His stomach was churning uncomfortably and he had the strange sense that Anthony's answer to this might make him angry.

Anthony cocked his head in thought. "Hm. Well, I guess it still applies, doesn't it? I mean, Fate — or whatever it is — doesn't just choose which situations are meaningful and which aren't, right? Well, I guess it could, but that seems kind of odd. Maybe everyone in the war died so that the rest of us, and all the subsequent generations, could live peacefully and with the knowledge of the war as a defense against it ever happening again."

Something inside of Harry told him he didn't like that answer; not one bit.  
>He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he asked, "What about God? Do you believe in a higher power?"<p>

"I'm not sure. I think I do. I'd like to believe there's someone watching over us." Anthony stopped, looking deeply pensive. "Yeah, I believe in God," he said, nodding. "I think there's someone out there that manages all that Fate stuff, don't you?"

"I s'pose." He wanted to bring up Anthony's sister and her eating disorder, to ask him what the ultimate purpose for _that_was, but he stopped himself. It wasn't his place, first of all, and besides, it would bring the conversation back around to Malfoy, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.

Mostly because he knew he was upset that he'd be spending the night with Anthony instead of with Malfoy in the loo.

* * *

><p>"Draco!" Pansy shouted, positively fuming now. "You <em>said<em> you would tell me! I've given it _three_days and I won't wait a moment longer. You tell me who you're crushing on, Draco Malfoy, or I will . . . spell your hair red!"

Draco turned to Pansy, appalled, mouth hanging open, but she merely raised a brow.

"That's right. Now tell me."

Draco looked cautiously around the nearly-empty library (it was Friday night) as though checking to make sure no one was listening. When he looked back at Pansy he was frowning.

"Will you keep your voice down? Someone will hear you and start spreading rumors!"

She huffed and folded her arms. "No one _cares_ about your life anymore, Draco," she said. He scowled but she didn't seem impressed. "Well, it's true. All anyone cares about is Potter and his gang of heroes. So will you stop acting like Creevey's ghost is hiding around every corner and just _tell _me?"

"There's nothing to tell!" he hissed. Pansy's eyebrows rose disbelievingly.

"Is that why you looked like the man of your dreams had just walked by the other day?"

"I did _not _look like that."

"Oh, hush. You know, if you're not going to tell me, I'll just figure it out on my own."

Draco made it a point not to laugh. It took almost no effort to appear unconcerned.

"Like I said, there's nothing to know, but be my guest. I know how much you love to play spy."

Pansy stood up suddenly and gathered her books in her arms. Draco looked up at her.

"I'll be watching," she said. Draco winked at her, but instead of becoming flustered and stomping away, she smirked and exited the library with much more confidence than Draco liked. His only comfort was that this was Pansy, and she most likely wouldn't know her arse from a hole in the ground.

* * *

><p>Harry had been mindlessly watching Ron scribble a letter to his mother when Hermione sat down next to him in the one of the chairs by the fire Saturday afternoon.<p>

"Hey, 'Mione," he said vacantly. His mind was elsewhere; namely, a few hours ahead of time with Malfoy in the loo.

"I wanted to ask you a question."

"Yeah, sure."

Hermione settled more into her chair and Harry raised a brow.

"I'm doing an extra credit paper for Defense on the Imperius Curse and I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about how you threw off Moody's — er, Barty Jr.'s — curse fourth year. It won't take long. I just need a few notes."

"Oh, yeah, of course. What kind of stuff did you need to know?"

"Well, I'll ask you some questions. Not now — I don't have them prepared or anything, and I have to finish up my Arithmancy essay anyway. Does later tonight sound okay?"

Ron suddenly looked up from his letter and frowned at her.

"No, tonight _isn't_ all right. He — and _you_, for that matter — have to help me bring up the cases of Firewhiskey from the kitchens where Seamus said he put them. There's a lot. I _told_you that, Hermione."

"Oh, yes . . ." she said lightly, but Harry got the feeling she hadn't forgotten at all. He, on the other hand, hadn't known, and had thus made plans again with Malfoy tonight. Because it was a weekend they had again agreed to meet earlier. Harry flushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Actually, I already have . . . plans."

Both Ron and Hermione looked at him.

"With . . . ?" Ron asked, though Harry thought his redheaded friend had an inkling as to whom Harry's plans were with.

"I — er — well, I said I'd meet with Malfoy again tonight and—"

"God, Harry, are you _serious_?" Ron was bright red and he looked angry. A part of Harry felt extremely guilty, but another part, the notoriously stubborn part, was also gaining heat. "You're gonna go fuck around with _Malfoy_ instead of helping _me_ get stuff for my _party_?"

Harry frowned. "I already told him I would, Ron."

"Well, too bad for him, then, eh? Best mate takes priority, isn't that right?"

"The person I made plans with first takes priority, actually," said Harry defensively. Ron stared at him with his mouth open in a wide O. He looked to Hermione, perhaps for support, but she was merely looking down at her hands, apparently conflicted and unwilling to take part in this argument. Ron looked back to Harry and his eyes were narrowed.

"I cannot believe I'm hearing this," said Ron. "You've been disappearing _all week_ and most of last week as well, and now you're fucking off to go play with _Malfoy_, of _all people_, when your _best mate_ needs help preparing for his birthday party? Are you bloody _kidding _me, Harry?"

Harry was gripping the arms of his chair so hard that he was sure his knuckles must have been white. He hated when Ron played the part of the ripped-off best friend. As though Harry had intentionally done this to hurt him.

"Don't be a dick, Ron," Harry said in a low voice. Ron must have heard the warning tone in it because his eyes went wide in disbelief.

"You're not kidding," he said softly. "You're really going to go see Malfoy instead of helping me, aren't you?"

"That's right."

Ron stood up and grabbed his letter fiercely off the table he'd been writing on. He glared at Harry.

"Bloody loyal Gryffindor you are." Ron stalked away and left through the portrait hole without a backward glance. Harry looked at Hermione to see that she was already staring at him with concern.

What hurt more than Ron's words was the fact that he'd _known_ they would hurt Harry. That he'd said them for that reason. Both he and Hermione had been there in second year when Harry had first found out he could speak Parseltongue and worried that he hadn't been placed in the right House. They'd both known how scared he'd been when Voldemort had been inside his mind; how terrified he'd been that he was _like_the man. Doubting his place as a Gryffindor was a low blow. Hermione seemed to sense this because she said, "He didn't mean it, Harry—"

"Yes he did." Harry knew Ron hadn't meant it, that he was just upset, but that didn't stop him from being angry. He stood up from his own chair and started heading toward the portrait. Just before going through he stopped and looked back. "Sorry, Hermione. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Harry was amusing Malfoy by making different beards and hairstyles with the bubbles in the tub. Malfoy was actually laughing, and Harry thought it had to be one of the cutest things he'd ever seen. He would never have guessed it, but Malfoy had a nice laugh. It wasn't too loud or obnoxious, but it wasn't funny or contagious like Anthony's either. Whenever Anthony laughed Harry found himself laughing as well, and it would continue until they both had tears streaming down their faces. With Malfoy, it was a little more refined and controlled, but Harry found that he rather liked it — liked watching it. It made him feel good.<p>

After having a particularly large cluster of bubbles drip down into his eye, Harry had dipped underwater in order to rinse it out. His eye burned like it was on fire. He could hear Malfoy laughing harder than usual by the side of the tub.

Harry managed to open his eyes and saw Malfoy's pale legs dangling underwater. He smiled deviously to himself and swam over, and as Malfoy couldn't see Harry through all the bubbles, Harry had the advantage of a surprise attack. He grabbed one skinny leg and tugged. He hadn't meant to actually pull him in, but he kept forgetting just how light Malfoy really was. The boy slipped into the water, flailing as he went. Harry broke the surface and waited for him to come up as well, biting his lip in an attempt to hide his smile because he knew Malfoy would not be happy.

Indeed, he came up spluttering and wiping frantically at his eyes. Harry couldn't help it; he chuckled. Malfoy dipped his hands in the water, trying to get them clear of bubbles, but it was difficult when he his eyes were closed. Harry took pity on him and found a clean patch, rinsed his own hands, and reached forward to clear Malfoy's eyes. Malfoy stilled the moment he felt Harry's hands and Harry's stomach constricted a bit, his mind conjuring images of the last time they'd been in the tub together.

When his face was clean, Malfoy opened his eyes and looked directly at Harry.

"Was that necessary?" he inquired softly. Instead of answering, Harry picked up a handful of bubbles and set them on top of Malfoy's head. He laughed and nodded. Malfoy rolled his eyes and then picked up some bubbles of his own and smeared them onto the side of Harry's face. "There," he said. "You look good with mutton chops."

"Do I look sophisticated?"

"Potter, you don't even look sophisticated with glasses."

"I guess I'm hopeless then." He smiled; Malfoy blushed and looked down at the water. Harry had a fleeting urge to grab him and kiss him.

"Guess what," Malfoy said suddenly.

"What?"

He looked up and met Harry's eyes and Harry was taken aback by both the excitement and pride in Malfoy's gray ones.

"What?" he pressed, laughing. Malfoy smirked.

"I ate a bowl of oatmeal today at breakfast."

Harry's face dropped and his eyes went very wide indeed.

"Are you serious?"

"It was a small bowl," he said quickly, "but —"

Harry didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence; the urge from before came back full force and this time Harry followed through with it. He grabbed Malfoy's face and fairly mashed their lips together, smiling and feeling Malfoy smile back.

When he felt Malfoy open his mouth, he simply couldn't resist pushing his tongue inside. When he felt Malfoy leisurely wrap his own tongue around Harry's and suck it further into his mouth, Harry both felt and heard himself whimper. He could very subtly taste the oatmeal Malfoy claimed to have eaten earlier and somehow it only heightened the experience. He found himself reaching for Malfoy's waist and pushing him bodily against the tiled sidewall.

It occurred to him vaguely that this was _nothing_ like kissing Anthony. It was so much better, so much _hotter_, and it had nothing to do with the warm water coming up to their waists. Malfoy had his hands on Harry's shoulders, almost as though he were too nervous to do anything else with them, and if for no other reason than to show Malfoy there was no need to be nervous Harry pressed his whole body against Malfoy's, allowing his burgeoning erection to press against Malfoy's jutting hip. Malfoy gasped and pulled away, his eyes wide, but his nails were suddenly digging into Harry's shoulders.

"You like oatmeal?" Malfoy asked breathlessly. Harry smirked.

"Not really. But it tastes pretty good on your tongue."

Malfoy blushed fiercely. Harry laughed and kissed his cheek.

"And you didn't . . . throw it up or anything?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No. It's . . . hard, but I haven't. I can't stop thinking about it, though."

"It'll get easier," Harry promised, and kissed him lightly again. Malfoy's eyes remained closed even after Harry pulled away and Harry took that moment to admire his face. While it was just as pale as it had always been and his cheeks were a bit sunken and there were bags under his eyes, Malfoy had an unusually beautiful face. It reminded Harry of a female model. The high cheek bones, the sharp angles; everything that photographers wanted because even though it didn't necessarily look stereotypically "hot" in real life, it photographed well. That didn't mean he _didn't _look beautiful in real life, because he did. But it was that unique beauty; not like a typical girl one might find in a pornographic magazine. It was stunning and sexy. And Harry found that he liked this very, very much. In fact, if Malfoy hadn't chosen that moment to open his eyes, Harry thought he could have gone on staring for quite a while.

Malfoy must have noticed Harry looked distant and realized he'd been staring because he flushed.

"What?"

Harry smiled gently and shook his head.

"You're beautiful," he said. Malfoy looked down.

"You said that the other day."

"I know. It just keeps taking me by surprise." Malfoy frowned and Harry quickly realized how that sounded. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I . . . I just mean you're stunning." Harry felt his cheeks begin to heat up but he didn't take it back. It was true, after all.

"Do you really think that?" Malfoy asked quietly.

"I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true."

Malfoy's face turned redder than ever and once again he looked down. Harry smiled to himself.

"I wish you didn't have to pull me into the water every time you kissed me," he said finally, and Harry laughed. Malfoy smirked and looked up at him.

"Maybe I like you wet," he teased. Malfoy rolled his eyes and huffed.

"I don't suppose you're any good at Drying Charms?"

"No such luck," Harry said with a shrug. "But I can take you to your dorm with the Cloak, if you want, and no one will see you."

"They'll see the door."

"Better than nothing." Harry winked at him and Malfoy visibly had to hold back a smile.

"Fine."

The two boys climbed out of the tub. After Harry had donned his dry clothing and gathered the Cloak, they both hid beneath it before leaving the room. Harry held Malfoy's hand as he led him through the castle corridors, even though he knew Malfoy knew the way, and even though he didn't really have to because the Cloak was definitely big enough; but he wanted to, and in his mind, that was enough. If the embarrassed way Malfoy stayed focused on the ground was anything to go by, he didn't mind either.

Harry took this as further proof that Malfoy may have feelings for him, but quickly pushed the celebratory feeling this elicited inside of him aside and reminded himself that _he loved Anthony_! This was just a . . . a little fling. He was attracted to him and _that was all!_

But he conveniently seemed to forget this resolution once more when they entered the Slytherin common room and managed to sneak into the dorm room, where everyone was conveniently sleeping soundly. It was late.

Malfoy turned to Harry, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry caught his lips in a kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than he had originally intended. When Malfoy pulled away he was breathing heavily and his breath floated across Harry's face.

"'Night," he said softly.

"Sleep well."

He saw Malfoy nod in the dark before he ducked out from under the Cloak and went over to his trunk. He pulled out a pair of clean boxers and had been about to take off his shirt when he turned in the direction Harry was still standing.

He smirked and made a shooing motion with one hand. Harry chuckled silently, fondly, and finally made for the door.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sorry! I'm a bitch, I know. I know! I'm sick AGAIN. Send me a lot of chocolate strawberries and maybe I'll feel better._

**Manorexic**_  
>Chapter Twelve <em>

Draco couldn't understand why he was suddenly so excited about the prospect of trying to eat, only that it had to do with Harry and seeing his face light up like that again. The way Harry had kissed him when he'd revealed the news about the bowl of oatmeal he'd eaten yesterday at breakfast . . . it had been like something out of a fucking fairytale. Harry Potter kissed like he did everything else: passionately and like it was the last thing he'd ever do.

Or maybe it just felt that way to Draco because he was quickly realizing just _how_ attached to this boy he really was. It was kind of sick, in a way. He thought about Harry almost as much as he thought about his appearance.

When Harry had kissed him the first time, it had felt like time had stopped, like the earth had been holding its breath and watching. But that second time, when Harry had grabbed his face and just _gone_ for it, like he'd been waiting to do it his whole life . . . that kiss had felt to Draco like it had been earth-shattering; like the whole world had rocked beneath them, _with_ them. And for a moment Draco had lost his breath and forgotten where he was.

But this insanity had brought up a new problem, one he hadn't expected to be faced with: Harry had told Draco he was beautiful, that he was stunning, told him _twice_, in fact, but that didn't make it any easier for Draco to believe. And he couldn't help but wonder if eating might change that. Certainly it was worth a try for now — anything was worth being kissed like that — but would Harry still think him as beautiful or stunning if he gained weight? Draco _knew_ he was fat, but Harry honestly didn't seem to see it. Would he see it finally if Draco continued on this way?

It made his head hurt, but he resolved to continue trying at least for now. Maybe take it a bit slower, though . . . He'd eaten a very small bowl of cereal this morning and then tried to force some bacon down at dinner. Two pieces had been okay, but when he'd bitten into the third he'd felt his stomach rumble horribly and he'd raced out of the Great Hall and into the nearest bathroom. He'd found himself clutching his stomach over a toilet bowl for the next hour. He'd not thrown it up — he'd forced himself not to — but it had been uncomfortable to say the least.

Later in the evening, while he'd been waiting for Harry in the Prefects' bathroom, he'd resolved not to tell him. After all, he _hadn't_ thrown up. And it hadn't even been a situation where he'd had to stop himself from sticking his fingers down his throat; his body had tried to reject the food on its own. The fact that he'd resisted, in his opinion, was incredible enough that he thought he deserved to only tell Harry about how much he'd eaten today without the gory details.

Harry would be proud of him. And maybe he'd kiss him again.

* * *

><p>Anthony was waiting for Harry outside the Great Hall after dinner. Harry had noticed Malfoy walk out and he'd wanted to follow, but he hadn't. Ron was already not speaking to him, and he wasn't sure, but he thought Hermione was uncomfortable as well.<p>

He was a little surprised to see Anthony. A part of him had been under the impression that he'd have to apologize to his boyfriend and explain the situation and yadda-yadda-yadda, but apparently that wasn't the case.

Anthony smiled at him, albeit a little weakly, and took his hand. As they made their way up the stairs toward both of their dorms Harry asked the question that was on his mind.

"You're not mad at me?"

Anthony sighed and chuckled a bit. "You mean because of Ron?" Harry nodded. "Harry, I'm dating _you_, not your friends. Just because you get into a fight with them doesn't mean you're in a fight with me, too. To be honest, I'm a little hurt that you'd peg me as being as recklessly emotional as Ron."

Harry flushed. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's just—"

"I know. Hermione told me what happened. I don't blame you for being wary." He leaned up and kissed the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry smiled weakly down at him. "I understand why Ron's upset, but in your defense, you _had_ made plans already." Harry breathed a sigh of relief and leaned down to kiss Anthony fully on the mouth. He'd never been so thankful for a smart, understanding boyfriend. When he pulled away, however, Anthony looked a little doubtful.

"What?"

"Having said that, I still think you should try to understand Ron's feelings. This is Malfoy, after all, not just some arbitrary boy you've decided to spend time with."

Harry huffed and folded his arms across his chest. He prayed his cheeks wouldn't color as images of what he and Malfoy had gotten up to these past few days flitted across his mind.

"It's not like I'm replacing him and Hermione. I'm just helping him get over this thing he has with his body image. It's really sad to see."

"I know, Harry. My sister, remember? And it's very noble of you to do, especially considering who he is."

Harry bumped Anthony with his shoulder and Anthony laughed and hooked their arms, leaning into Harry's side.

"I mean it. You know that, right? I love you."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat but he turned to Anthony anyway and covered his cheeks with his hands.

"I know," he said softly. "I love you too." It hurt a little bit to say that, and Harry wasn't sure whether this was because he felt bad for lying to Anthony about Malfoy or for lying about his feelings. He decided not to dwell on it right now. Instead, he kissed him gently and squeezed his hands.

The voice of the eagle-knocker broke their silence: "Define truth."

Harry's eyes went very wide and he looked to Anthony helplessly, sure they'd be out here for quite a while. To his astonishment, Anthony looked perfectly confident.

"I don't think there is any definitive definition of 'truth,'" he said speculatively to the eagle. "There are only constants, the things that never change from perspective to perspective; such as the fact that this castle is called Hogwarts."

"Well reasoned," the eagle knocker replied, and the door to Ravenclaw opened. Harry shook his head with a chuckle and kissed Anthony's cheek.

"You're crazy."

"Intelligent," Anthony corrected, and with a last kiss goodnight he stepped inside and disappeared.

* * *

><p><p>

When Harry walked into the bathroom, Draco could already tell he looked conflicted and it made his stomach clench. He felt himself falling back to his habitual defensive attitude before a word was even spoken between them.

"Hi," Harry said, only giving him half a smile. Draco merely stared from where he sat on the bench. Harry sighed and walked over, sitting down next to him. "How was your day?"

"All right," Draco said carefully. He continued to watch Harry. Harry didn't seem to notice. He nodded.

"Eat anything?"

Draco sucked briefly on his lower lip, watching his own hands in his lap, before saying, "Cereal. And some bacon at dinner."

Harry's smile grew until it was a real one. "Brilliant!"

"It was disgusting."

He could tell that Harry wasn't sure whether he was being facetious or not. In all honesty, Draco couldn't tell himself. Perhaps he was waiting for Harry's reaction to know for sure.

"It's a start, though, isn't it?" he tried eventually. Draco looked back at his hands and nodded.

"I guess so."

"Is something wrong?"

Yes. But Draco knew it was silly. Of course it was: it was ridiculous to have expected Harry to come running inside with a huge smile on his face, ready to snog the living daylights out of him and tell him how much he missed him today. But it didn't stop Draco from being a little upset. And maybe a little withdrawn. Besides, Harry looked less than perky himself, and it worried Draco. He was on edge about this relationship . . . or whatever it was supposed to be.

"No," he said. He didn't look at Harry. But then he felt warm fingers under his chin and he was forced to do so, and less than a second later Harry was kissing him. When Harry pulled away he looked down. Draco touched his lips gently, feeling how they tingled in the aftermath of another breathtaking kiss. "What was that for?"

"To reassure myself."

A lump seemed to form in Draco's throat. What was that supposed to mean?

"Of what?" he asked, hearing the harsh tone in his own voice. Harry looked up at him briefly and then back down. Draco's eyebrows knitted.

"That I'm doing the right thing."

Draco stood up so quickly that his head spun. Harry's eyes followed him, wide now, as though Draco had startled him. Draco's teeth ground together in irritation. He had to tell himself that sometimes Harry said stupid things . . . sometimes he worded things badly. He wasn't all that diplomatic or tactful.

"What?" he asked. His hands froze on his thighs, as though he was afraid that, should he move, he might scare Draco away. This angered him further.

"What does that even mean? Are you unsure whether you want to be . . . helping me with . . . or meeting . . ." He realized he had no idea how to word it. Or even which part of this whole situation Harry had been referring to. The kissing, the . . . the eating thing, or . . .

Harry stood up cautiously, never taking his eyes off Draco, and Draco frowned. He didn't move, however, when Harry came up to him, though he tried to hide the fact that his breathing sped up considerably.

"Don't flip your lid, okay?" Harry said softly, but when he tried to reach out and touch Draco's shoulder, the boy twisted it out of the way. Harry's forehead creased and for the first time he began to look a little ticked off. "Look, Malfoy, you can't just expect me to know what you're thinking. Why the hell are you getting all prickly again?"

"_Prickly?_" he spat and took a step back. Harry looked utterly baffled and this served to further enrage Draco. "Are you unaware of what you just _said_ to me?"

"_No_, I told you that I was —"

"That you're unsure whether you want to be doing . . . this," he said fiercely, gesturing between them. Harry looked up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes as if to ask it, _Is he joking?_

"All I said was that I was reassuring myself!" he yelled, and Draco's eyes went wide. He felt his blood boiling, felt it simmering the way it always had when _Potter_ made him angry. Harry himself looked like he was getting pissed.

"Well that's really comforting, Potter! It's good to know that someone who's supposed to be helping me isn't sure that he's doing the right thing!"

Harry looked both shocked and upset. Like he hadn't the slightest clue as to what Draco was talking about. Draco heard himself growl.

"If you'd stop being such a fucking _girl_ for a second, Malfoy, and listen to me, you wouldn't jump to such absurd conclusions!"

Draco's jaw dropped. "That's right, Potter!" he shouted, causing Harry to stumble backward a step. "Play at my sore spots! I tell you crap I've never told _any_one and you use it against me! That's really fucking noble of you!"

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about?" Draco watched as Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he looked a bit calmer. "Look, I don't know _why _you just got so angry, but all I meant was that I'm sort of confused right now because my friends aren't happy about me running off to see you all the time. I got in a fight with Ron and he's not even speaking to me right now."

Draco thought that if it were possible for steam to come out of his ears, the bathroom would be a giant cloud of angry smoke right about now. Harry seemed to sense this because his face went pale.

"Malfoy, I —"

"Just get out of here, Potter!" he screamed, and he was trying desperately to hold back the tears that were pressing relentlessly at the corners of his eyes. He should have _known_this was too good to last very long. Weasley was upset, and Potter was backing down. How very _typical_. Well, he wasn't about to sit through it any longer. "Go back to your idiot friend and tell him not to worry because you won't be _running off_ with the big bad _girly_ Death Eater anymore!"

"Malfoy —" Harry began quietly, but Draco cut him off.

"Get out, Potter!"

And suddenly Harry looked like he'd been betrayed by his best friend. Crestfallen. Draco stood his ground, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run over and kiss the _idiot_ Gryffindor. Even though the idiot Gryffindor wasn't so sure whether he was willing to deal with a bit of shit from his "loyal" Weasel in order to spend time with someone whom he'd claimed to _really_ want to help. And kiss.

"Will you jus t—"

"OUT!"

Harry glared at Draco for another moment before grabbing his Cloak and storming out of the bathroom. Draco whipped out his wand without thinking and threw a hex at the door, one which did absolutely nothing, but it felt good nevertheless.

The weight of the food from earlier felt heavier than ever. In a fit of rage he ran over to a stall, bent oover the toilet, and stuck his fingers as far down his throat as he could manage. They scraped the soft tissue and he vaguely tasted blood, but it took half the time to make himself gag. He suffered through the initial convulsions, thinking about Harry the whole time, knowing he was doing this not only because he hated himself for having pushed him away and fucked it up, but because he knew it would hurt the boy.

When the food came up and splashed into the water beneath him he felt the anxious clutch that had gripped his stomach since yesterday release a little and he hated himself all the more for it. He was so pathetic he couldn't even keep food down for two days.

He wiped his mouth and staggered out of the stall, loathing himself more than he could remember doing in a while. Palms pressed into his eyes, he tried not to think about the cause of all this.

* * *

><p><p>

Pansy followed Draco into his dormitory and shut the door behind them. She stopped a few feet from his bed and gave him a gentle look. He'd brought his knees up to his chest and was hugging them, refusing to look at her.

"Draco," she started softly. He didn't respond. She hated seeing him like this: he was hurting so badly and she could practically feel it. This whole situation was unbearably confusing. First she'd been worried because he wasn't eating _and_ he was puking his guts up — not that that had been something new — and now it was something else as well. She just didn't know _what_. Yesterday he'd eaten at breakfast, and today he'd had breakfast _and_dinner. It had _something_ to do with this new . . . situation, she just couldn't figure it out. It had occurred to her that it might have something to do with this new "somebody" he was fawning over, but she couldn't figure _that_ out, either. It was unbelievably frustrating, especially since she had no one to punch in the face for hurting her boy. Because that was clearly what had happened. She _was_ a girl, after all, and girls could sense these things.

She sat on the bed beside Draco and placed a hand on his knee.

"What happened?"

Draco stayed silent. Pansy sighed.

"Does it have to do with this boy you won't tell me about?"

Draco's body tensed in response; it was as good as a "yes."

"I still don't know who it is, so you don't have to worry about that. Can you just tell me what happened so I can at least . . . I don't know, comfort you or something? Merlin, Draco, I hate seeing you like this."

Draco finally looked up. Pansy managed a weak smile. He didn't smile back, but he bit his lip and brought a hand up to cover hers on his knee. Then he looked at her — a harsh stare that very nearly unnerved her — and seemed to come to a conclusion.

"Pansy," he said, and she nodded as if to urge him to continue. "Please don't throw a fit."

Her heart raced. Was he going to tell her? She had to keep from smiling excitedly.

"I'm serious," he said. "If you tell anyone, or . . . or do _anything_ to let him know I told you, or make a scene in _any_ way, I'll . . . so help me God, Pansy, I'll tell your mum you fucked a Muggle." Pansy only glared, choosing not to dignify that with a response. "_Swear_ to me you won't—"

"Good God, Draco, I won't say a thing! Will you tell me already?"

Draco swallowed and looked away, squeezing her hand beneath his.

"Potter," he said finally. Pansy felt her mouth go dry.

". . . What?"

He looked at her. "Harry Potter. I'm . . . I like Potter. . . . A lot. And I've been meeting him in the Prefects' bathroom for about two weeks now. It's been him helping me with . . . Why I ate yesterday and today. And the other day he kissed me, and I can't stop thinking about him, and just a few minutes ago he told me . . ." Draco sighed heavily and brought both hands up to cover his eyes, pressing his palms into them. Pansy watched, feeling as though she might cry, as her usually composed friend broke down in front of her. "He _essentially_said he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing." He dropped his hands and Pansy saw there were a few smeared tears on his cheeks just below his eyes. "The Weasel isn't talking to him, apparently. Because of me. And Merlin knows the Giant Squid comes before a Death Eater on Potter's List of Priority People."

"You're not a Death Eater," Pansy said quietly, rubbing his back now. She was trying to keep any shock out of her voice. This was difficult due to the fact that Draco had just confessed to having a crush on _Harry Potter_, along with the fact that apparently they'd done a bit of snogging, but it didn't keep her from feeling horrible for her best friend. Or angry at Potter for doing what was typical of him and all Gryffindors.

Draco glared at her and ripped his sleeve up his arm, exposing the very black, very-much-still-there Dark Mark that marred his pale arm. Pansy looked away.

"No matter what happens between us, I'll always be the son of the Dark Lord's right hand man; the boy he hated for seven years; the Death Eater who let Greyback and Bellatrix and all the others into the school. I'll _always_ be associated with the Dark Lord and the opposite side of the war. And his friends will always hate me." His angry sneer had disappeared and been replaced with greatest despair. Pansy wrapped her arms around him, able to think of nothing else to do, and hugged him to her chest. Draco hugged her back and said into her ear, "He has a boyfriend, Pansy. It's a miracle anything transpired in the first place. I can't believe I let that happen."

Pansy pulled away and held Draco's arms, forcing him to look at her.

"Do you know what I think?" she said. He frowned.

"Do I want to know?"

She smiled reassuringly. "I think you and Potter make sense." A look of incredulity crossed his face. "No, really. Now that I think about it, I kind of can't believe I never saw it before. You two have always fought. There was bound to be something there, right? I mean, why else would two people care so much what the other thought?"

"Pans, I don't think it was like tha —"

"Nonsense, it makes all the sense in the world." She reached out to wipe a tear from Draco's face. He grimaced, as though ashamed he'd cried. "Someone like Harry Potter won't be satisfied for long with someone like _Anthony Goldstein_. Potter craves hardship and adventure and a chase. A challenge. And let's be honest, Draco, no one presents more of a challenge than you."

He rolled his eyes but a smile tugged at his mouth.

"I think he'll come around. Don't get too distraught over it, yeah? If he was stupid enough to kiss you in the first place he's stupid enough to come back for more, right?

"Hey!"

"I'm just being honest!"

Draco slapped her arm and she laughed. "Besides. If he's managing to help with your . . . thing, then, well . . . I'm all right with him." Draco blushed and looked down at his hands. "I know you hate me talking about it, but I'm not going to pretend it's not there anymore. You can deny it, but I'm not. At least Potter's trying to help." She leaned in again and hugged him. "I love you, Draco. Anyone who can make you happy is worth fighting for, I think."

"What should I do?" he whispered. Once again, Pansy pulled away.

"Let him come back to you."


	13. Chapter 13

_In my defense, I've been working a billion hours a week, so cut me some slack, ya buncha mudbloods!_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Thirteen_**  
><strong>

Harry had an enormous pit in his stomach Monday morning. He lay in bed thinking of nothing but his fight last night with Malfoy — of the things he had said and the things Malfoy had said in response — wondering if, perhaps, he was in the wrong. But that was insane! He hadn't done anything wrong! In fact, he couldn't even remember why, or, indeed, _when_, Malfoy had gotten angry in the first place. He'd seemed on edge since Harry had walked into the bathroom. A horrible thought came to him: what if he'd been having issues with eating? And Harry had snapped back, out of force of habit?

He pushed away the guilty feelings by reminding himself that Malfoy had kicked him out of the loo before he could even attempt to understand what was going on. So it was Malfoy's fault, which made sense because he was a giant git, and Harry could go back to being peacefully apathetic to Malfoy's existence.

The sunlight hitting the curtains around his bed, giving it a red glow, told him it was probably around nine or ten o'clock. He wondered if Ron was up. Probably not, as classes had been canceled today due to some staff meeting McGonagall had, according to Hermione, been vague about. Ron had been, to say the very least, ecstatic when Hermione had informed them of this last night.

Harry sighed and pushed the quilt off, deciding it would be prudent to speak with Hermione before consulting Ron and trying to make amends. Harry was determined to stop fighting with him. It was stupid, and Harry wasn't talking to Malfoy anymore anyway.

Plus, it was Ron's birthday.

Hermione was sitting in the common room pouring over a textbook when he went down. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps. Aside from Dennis Creevey, the common room was empty. Harry felt a pang of sadness at the sight of the boy, remembering Colin and how he'd looked lying with the rest of the dead in the Great Hall.

He stopped himself from continuing down this path quickly, lest he end up curled in a corner thinking about the rest of the casualties.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, smiling nervously. Harry was vaguely reminded of the way she'd acted around him when his wand had broken on their Horcrux hunt. He sat down next to her in one of the big chairs and smiled.

"Morning, 'Mione." She visibly relaxed at his casual, friendly tone and in turn Harry felt his shoulders loosen up a bit. "Listen, d'you think Ron will be willing to just get over this? I don't wanna fight with him." At this statement Hermione looked both relieved and uncomfortable simultaneously, which was odd to say the least.

"He's, er — very upset about Malfoy . . ."

"I know," Harry sighed. "But I . . . We're not talking anymore, me and Malfoy." He leaned back in his chair and looked at his hands, hoping she wouldn't notice the small blush on his cheeks. "It wasn't bound to last. I mean, it's me and Malfoy, right?" When he looked back up he saw that she looked concerned.

"What happened?"

He shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We started fighting completely out of nowhere and he told me to leave. So I left. Mind you, I _tried_to ask what was wrong, but he was furious and probably would've hexed me if I hadn't gotten out of there when I had."

He was surprised to see that Hermione was frowning.

"But why was he mad? Surely it wasn't out of nowhere if he was so upset."

"Er . . ." Harry looked around, as though Malfoy might show up and explain the situation to Hermione himself. "I don't really know. Like I said, he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. He just got upset. I think he was already angry when I got there, though."

Hermione sighed and looked faintly amused. At the same time, he thought he saw genuine pity in her eyes.

"Why did I become friends with you and Ron again?"

Harry laughed and kicked her shin lightly. "Because we saved you from a troll. You don't fight a troll together and not become friends, Hermione, that's one of the seven hundred exceptions to Merlin's Law of Friends Who Defeat Evil Wizards Together."

Hermione snorted with laughter and Harry, finding the sound to be very heartening indeed, laughed again as well, until both were fairly howling with it in the their corner of the common room. Dennis Creevey looked over a few times, smiling at them, until they managed to control themselves.

Eventually, she said, "Of course Ron will accept your apology, Harry."

"I never said I was apologizing. Just that I wanted to stop fighting." Harry kept a straight face for several seconds, watching as Hermione stared in disbelief, and then winked. "I'm kidding. Actually, well, I wasn't really planning on apologizing, because technically I didn't do anything wrong, but I guess it doesn't matter much now. Besides, if he doesn't feel like being friends now, he will later on tonight when I hand over his present."

"I'm not sure he'd turn down Malfoy himself if he presented Ron with that gift, actually."

"Don't talk to me about Malfoy anymore," Harry said, trying to keep his tone light and smiling for the added effect. He stood up and stretched. "Hey, you wanna go get breakfast? I'm starving."

Hermione looked down at her book for several seconds before marking the page by folding a corner and then placing the book on a table.

"We should wake Ron up. He'll want to come."

"Yeah, but I hate going into battle on an empty stomach."

Hermione snorted again. "Oh, shut up, will you? You know he'll get over it, especially when you tell him you've stopped talking to Malfoy. Come on, let's go."

Harry huffed and followed her up the stairs. A thought occurred to him just before she pushed the door open and he said, "Hey, save the snogging till I'm not there, though, yeah?"

She glared at him before quietly walking into the dorm, bidding Harry to follow her, and shutting the door behind them.

Harry watched her cautiously, not sure what to expect, and raised his eyebrows when he saw her take out her wand. She looked at him and pressed a finger to her lips.

"What are you —"

"Shh!" she hissed. And then she crept forward, dragging Harry with her, and pulled Ron's curtains open. He was snoring heavily. They both sat down at the foot of the bed and Hermione shut the curtains around them and cast _Muffliato_. Then, with a flick of her wand, there was a loud bang and streamers and ribbons fell onto the bed and around their heads.

"Happy birthday!" she shouted, grinning broadly. Harry laughed. Ron sat up, his chest heaving, looking entirely baffled. Hermione began laughing — she and Harry almost lost it for the second time in an hour. Ron seemed to get a hold of himself quickly and he smiled. Then he looked at Harry, seemed to remember something, and frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's your birthday, you see, and —"

"I'm serious, Harry."

Harry's smile slipped off his face so quickly that it might never have been there. He saw Hermione look down.

"I stopped talking to Malfoy," he said quietly, looking at the quilt as well. There was silence for a few moments and when he looked back up Ron appeared to be contemplating something.

"Why?" he said finally. Harry shrugged. He obviously wasn't going to tell the truth, but he also wasn't stupid enough to tell Ron he did it for him. Ron wasn't _entirely_ clueless.

"Just didn't work out," he said. "We started fighting."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, well, I could have told you that would happen. I dunno what you were thinking, trying to be friends with _Malfoy_, of all people." Harry put on a smile and nodded as though he agreed.

"Anyway, happy birthday! You wanna go down to breakfast? I'm hungry."

"Oh, yeah! Let's go!" And with the speed of someone whose favorite thing in the world was food, Ron jumped out of bed, hurried into his clothes, and dashed out of the dorm ahead of Harry and Hermione. The latter two looked at each other; Hermione patted Harry's back softly.

"Told you he'd get over it."

Harry smiled at her and held the door as she exited, trying not to think about Malfoy and how resentful he felt toward Ron right now.

There were a few people in the Great Hall, including Anthony, who came over to their table as soon as he saw them and sat down next to Harry, across from Ron and Hermione.

"Happy birthday, Ron."

"Thanks," said Ron, smiling like a lunatic and pulling all food within reach onto his plate. Anthony began buttering a piece of toast, apparently meaning to eat breakfast with them, so Harry slipped a hand around his waist. Anthony smiled and kissed his cheek before going back to his food.

"So, is everything ready for tonight?" he asked. Ron, whose mouth was full to the brim with food, tried to speak, but was unsuccessful. Instead, a piece of egg fell from his mouth and onto the table. Hermione raised an eyebrow at it.

"Yes, everything's ready," she said, putting a smile on. "Neville helped us bring the Firewhiskey up from the kitchens on Saturday and Ron's mum owled the cakes early this morning."

"She did?" Ron managed. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, Errol brought them to the common room. I've been up for a while already. They're packed away in a cupboard in my dormitory. I put a Cooling Charm on it so they'll stay fresh."

Ron had finally swallowed and moved in to kiss Hermione, who turned bright red. Harry and Anthony shared a smirk.

"Sounds like it's going to be a roaring party then, eh?" He picked up another piece of toast and buttered that one as well. "Long as your brother didn't send any dangerous sweets along?" He winked and Ron grimaced.

"Better not have. I don't much feel like being sick all over the common room during my birthday party."

"Or being constipated," Harry added. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, or that."

At that moment Harry decided to look around at the Slytherin table and his stomach sank. Malfoy wasn't there, but Parkinson and Zabini were, and surely that meant Malfoy had skipped the meal. He mentally kicked himself, praying to any attendant gods that it wasn't his fault, that Malfoy wasn't going back to his eating habits — or rather, lack of them — because of the fight.

"Harry?"

Harry looked at Hermione, startled.

"Sorry, what?"

"Are you all right? You looked sick for a moment."

Harry forced a smile onto his face and took a bite of Anthony's abandoned toast for good measure.

"I'm fine. Just spaced out for a second."

Later that evening, while Hermione was getting dressed in her own dorm, Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Anthony, and Neville sat in the boys', listening to Seamus recount one of his infamous drunken exploits.

"Don't suppose any of these might not be true," Anthony whispered. Harry laughed and pulled him closer by the waist.

"Somehow, I wouldn't doubt he's done all these things. I've shared a dorm with him for six years — seven including this one — and I've never seen someone get as drunk as he does."

"Charming," Anthony said, and Harry dug his fingers into his side, tickling him. Problem was, Anthony wasn't particularly ticklish. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, knowing what he'd been trying to do, and retaliated by ghosting a breath across Harry's neck. Goosebumps erupted across Harry's skin and he couldn't suppress a shiver. That always did it; his neck was so incredibly sensitive, though he hadn't the slightest idea why. In fact, he hadn't really discovered this until Ginny, when she'd tried kissing his neck one time and he'd fairly leapt five feet in the air. He'd come to realize it was an extremely sensitive erogenous zone, but if someone touched him there without sexual intention (or at least without the intent to finish what they'd started), he always had a minor fit.

Indeed, he could feel his nipples hardening and his skin crawling just from the small gesture. Anthony seemed to have noticed because he chuckled.

"Oi, stop seducing my Savior in my own bedroom!" Seamus called.

"_Your _savior?" Dean laughed. "I wasn't aware you'd purchased him."

"Well, if you _must_ know," Seamus sighed. "Harry really did it all for me. See, we've had an affair going on all throughout school. Since first year, actually. Just haven't told anyone."

He looked over at Harry, who nodded solemnly.

"It's true," he said. "I'm madly in love. Wouldn't have been able to defeat Voldemort if it weren't for my beloved Irishman."

"Sorry, Goldstein," Seamus continued. "I'm afraid your company is no longer required."

Anthony, who didn't quite have the sarcastic sense of humor Harry did, merely laughed.

"I wasn't aware you swung that way, Finnigan," he said.

"I'm a man of mystery," said Seamus. Ron, who was pulling socks out of his trunk, snorted.

"You're laughing now, but when you're not invited to me and Harry's wedding you'll be sorry."

"Right. Well, if you've no more deep, dark secrets to share, my party's about to begin in the common room. Shall we?"

* * *

><p>Harry wasn't plastered, but if he said he was sober he'd be lying. The room was definitely beginning to swirl. At some point about an hour into the party Hermione came up to him, clearly a bit buzzed if her carefree smile was to be believed, and fairly shouted into his ear.<p>

"Did you get Ron's present?"

Harry flinched away and rubbed at his ear, glaring at Hermione.

"It's not _that_ loud 'n here," he said, and Hermione blushed. "But no, I didn't. Thanks f'reminding me. I'm gonna go geddit."

Hermione nodded and moseyed away again toward Ron, who was sitting on a couch and positively roaring with laughter at something Seamus had said.

Once Harry had stepped out of the portrait, he blinked a few times to stop the world from spinning and started down the corridor that led to the Room of Requirement. He'd been happy to note that the Fiendfyre had not, after all, destroyed the room entirely, though the only incarnation that would appear was the Room of Hidden Things and it was covered in ash. Still, though, it was a place to keep Ron's gift.

He hated going inside the room, every mound of ash reminding him of what had happened in here, of Malfoy's face when Harry had saved him from being burned alive. He didn't recall actually flying Malfoy to safety very well, but he supposed that was due to the fact that he'd been terrified and driving on instinct at that point.

The broom was not far from the door and Harry retrieved it easily, especially as there were hardly any towers to navigate anymore; only ash.

When he returned to the portrait of the Fat lady his brows threaded in confusion, for there was a small boy standing before her, a yellow Hufflepuff tie hanging from round his neck, and he looked frightened.

"Hey," said Harry, and the boy fairly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. When he saw Harry, however, he looked a bit relieved.

"M-Mr. Potter," he stammered, and held out a piece of roughly folded parchment. Harry took it cautiously.

"You can call me Harry," he told the small boy, smiling down at him. His round cheeks flushed and he nodded. "Who's this from, anyway?"

"Oh, er, um, D-Draco Malfoy, Mr. — oh, er, Harry . . ."

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered, and at once unfolded the parchment, ignoring the increased speed of his pulse.

There were seven hurriedly scrawled words in the center of the parchment:

_Come to the prefects bathroom. Now. Please._

Harry's heart hammered against his chest and he looked up again, but the boy had gone. His alcohol-induced mind was in no state to be thinking about any of this. He was supposed to be at Ron's birthday party, delivering the newest broom available to his best mate, getting drunk, maybe fucking Anthony later, but this . . . this was an unforeseen fork in the road.

Why would Malfoy have sent this? Weren't they fighting? Or not talking? Or . . . something?

Harry groaned and put his palm to his forehead, trying to clear his head. It didn't work and so he shook his head, crumpling the parchment in his hand, and looked from it to the broomstick several times before making up his mind.

Malfoy wouldn't have sent this — with a first year Hufflepuff no less — unless it was important. He wasn't the type to forgo arguments, was he? Especially when he'd been the one to send Harry out of the loo!

No, this would be important, and as Harry hurriedly made his way to the fifth floor he began to realize how anxious he was. Would Malfoy be in a bad state? What was Harry supposed to do if he was really upset, or . . . or crying, or something?

He walked into the bathroom to find Malfoy curled up near the edge of the tub, his shoes laying a few feet away, wearing a very familiar jumper. His blond head was buried in his knees.

_He's wearing my jumper,_ Harry thought with a sudden burst of elation. However, he forced this thought away quickly and went to Malfoy's side, dropping the broom and parchment and sitting down beside him. Malfoy looked up immediately and Harry saw that he was ashen and sweaty and seemed to be shivering a bit.

"Malfoy," he said quietly, reaching out instinctively to place a hand on his arm. "What happened?"

"I just . . ." Malfoy's voice sounded scratchy and a pit formed in Harry's stomach. Had he just vomited?

"Did you . . . throw up?" he asked. Malfoy shook his head and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, what's wrong?"

Malfoy took a breath and hugged his knees more tightly to himself. "Sometimes," he said softly, "when it's really bad, I have panic attacks."

Harry remembered him saying something about that. Something about having panic attacks back when Parkinson and Zabini had been trying to make him eat over the summer. Harry felt inexplicably terrible, like it was his fault this was happening, because, after all, he _had_ been the one to insist that Malfoy eat.

That was ridiculous, though. It wasn't like he was forcing Malfoy to do something _bad_. This was just like withdrawals or something. It was just his anxiety. Malfoy would have to get over it. He wasn't healthy!

Harry, however, had never had a panic attack, and didn't quite know of what they consisted, or how to help.

"Are you, er, still having it right now?" he asked a little awkwardly. Despite the situation, Malfoy let out a small chuckle before shaking his head and grimacing again.

"I was going to my dorm from the library earlier and it just sort of hit me. They're terrifying."

"I've . . . never had one," Harry said. Malfoy looked at him and his gray eyes appeared haunted. Harry felt a sudden urge to pull him into a hug, but resisted.

"The whole world goes black and white," Malfoy whispered. "And silent. And I feel like I can't breathe. My ears ring. And my heart's beating so fast . . . I start sweating a lot. I wrote that note and handed it to the first person I could find. Told him to get it to you immediately. And then I came here." He paused and took another breath, seemingly in an effort to calm down. Harry squeezed his arm a little tighter. "It's just really hard right now . . ."

"What is?"

Malfoy bit his lip and looked the other way, away from Harry, so he couldn't see his face when he mumbled, "Keeping it down."

"The food, you mean? You've still been trying t' eat, then?" Malfoy nodded and Harry smiled in spite of himself. "D'you feel like yer gonna to throw up right now?"

Malfoy shook his head and looked back at Harry, his eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears, Harry knew. It nearly broke his heart. And that, in itself, was a strange thing. Feeling pity for Malfoy so easily.

"It's hard not to . . . to make myself . . ." This last part was spoken so quietly that Harry might have missed it had he not been listening intently. His stomach churned and he felt a sudden spike of anger at the Malfoys, at Draco's past sexual encounters, and at Draco himself. This boy was stunning. Who in their right mind would tell him otherwise?

Once again, Harry found his thoughts on Malfoy's beauty tumbling from his mouth like word vomit — which, he supposed, was ironic. Although, it could have had something to do with his being tipsy.

"Malfoy," he said, taking his chin and forcing their eyes to connect. "How many times do I have to tell you that you're beautiful?" He flushed, but looked away.

"You can't mean it," Malfoy whispered. Harry ground his teeth together and, trying not to think about the technicalities or repercussions of what he was doing (and this was fairly easy with an alcohol-influenced mind), he pulled Malfoy's hands away from his body and turned him so they faced each other. Then he grasped those sunken cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the high, slightly feminine cheekbones, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Malfoy let out a breathy little whimper at the contact and Harry felt his libido rage. Oftentimes when he was drunk, he became particularly horny. Tonight he hadn't felt the stirrings of arousal yet, perhaps because he was only buzzed, but the feel of Malfoy's lips and that little noise he'd made sent lust coursing through Harry's body alarmingly fast.

Without thinking much about what he was doing, he spread Malfoy's bent legs enough so that he could crawl between them, giving him better access to Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy made a small sound of surprise — or protest? Harry couldn't tell — but Harry largely ignored it, preferring to cup Malfoy's face in his hands again and kiss him more deeply. His hands didn't stay stationary for long, though, and soon he found them on the floor on either side of Malfoy's waist, and Malfoy was leaning backwards, and Harry was moving with him until Malfoy was flat on his back, Harry hovering a few inches above him.

"I hate that you think yer ugly," he slurred a little breathlessly. He went in to kiss Malfoy again but Malfoy planted a hand on his chest, stilling him.

"Are you drunk?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm a little tipsy," he said with a smirk. "It's Ron's birthday. There's a party in the common room." And he tried to kiss him again, but again Malfoy stopped him. Harry made a little sound of protest.

"Why are you here, then?"

He couldn't tell if Malfoy looked annoyed or not.

"You needed me," he said simply, confused at the question. A light tint appeared on Malfoy's pale cheeks. It was adorable and Harry just barely resisted the urge to kiss them.

"But . . . aren't you missing the party . . . ?"

Harry sighed in frustration and sat back on his heels. Malfoy sat up as well, still looking suspicious.

"Yeah, but I got that note 'n I was worried so I came here. I don't underst —" But Harry didn't have time to finish his sentence because Malfoy had grabbed his face and pulled him forward, dragging him to the ground on top of him again at the same time that he forced his tongue between his lips. Harry made a muffled sound of surprise before returning the kiss eagerly.

Harry ran his hands down Malfoy's sides and then slipped them under the jumper — _his_ jumper — and felt Malfoy tense when he touched bare skin. He broke away from the kiss with a wet sound and looked nervously up at Harry.

"Potter, don't —"

"You're not fat, Malfoy," Harry whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to his ear as he continued to run his hands up Malfoy's stomach. He passed over his protruding ribs, fascinated by the way he could feel Malfoy breathing beneath his hand, and stopped when he reached his nipples. Malfoy's heart was beating insistently. He'd begun mouthing at the underside of his jaw when he felt Malfoy buck up against him and the bulges in their trousers pressed together for a fleeting second. Harry groaned and let out a puff of air.

"S-sorry," Malfoy whispered. Harry chuckled and kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands slipped back out of the jumper and he deftly unzipped Malfoy's trousers and pulled them open enough so that he could see the head of Malfoy's cock sticking out of the top of his pants. He swallowed thickly.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he said. He cupped Malfoy through the material and Malfoy released a quiet moan that made it hard for Harry to breathe. He didn't fancy taking it very slowly, probably due partly to the alcohol in his system, but also because a small part of his mind was exploding with excitement, as though he'd been waiting to do this forever.

Malfoy bit his lip when Harry pulled the pants down and his cock was freed, a small drop of precome balanced at the tip.

"Nice jumper, by the way," he said as he wrapped his hand around the base of Malfoy's length. Malfoy bucked up again and gasped, his eyes going wide as his back arched. He was oddly graceful despite how frail and fragile he looked. "Didn't know you cared so much."

It looked like Malfoy tried to glare but it was replaced by agonizing pleasure when Harry moved his hand up and back down, and then up again, swiping his thumb across the head.

"You look amazing like this," he whispered into Malfoy's ear and was pleased at the small moan that this evoked. "You're so beautiful, Malfoy. Goddamn gorgeous."

Apparently that did it for him. Harry had just barely started to speed up his rhythm, but as soon as he'd whispered those words Malfoy cried out, arching his entire body, and his come coated Harry's hand and shirt. He watched as Malfoy breathed deeply a few times before opening his eyes and looking up at Harry. For a few moments they stared at each other, but then Malfoy lifted himself up on his hands and Harry assisted him in sitting up entirely. Malfoy tucked himself away and Harry cast a Cleaning Charm on both of them.

He took Harry by surprise when he wrapped his arms around his neck. When the moment of shock subsided, Harry hugged him back tightly, pulling him against his chest.

"Thank you for coming," Malfoy said. He sounded unsure, and Harry figured this was probably because Malfoy was not used to thanking anyone for anything. He bit his lip as a euphoric smile threatened to dominate his face and he squeezed Malfoy again, reveling in his warmth.

He pulled Malfoy back to the ground and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his chest to Malfoy's back. His still-hard dick dug into Malfoy's arse, but he tried to ignore it.

"What are you doing?"

"Staying here with you," he said as he nuzzled his face into Malfoy's hair. He felt Malfoy shiver.

"What about you?" Harry knew he was referring to his insistent problem.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Go to sleep or something. I'd say we should go to the Room of Requirement, but, well . . ." Malfoy's body tensed.

"Yeah. . . ."

A brief silence.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

Malfoy wiggled around a bit, snuggling closer into Harry's chest and pulling the sleeves of the jumper down over his hands. Harry smiled to himself.

"I'm fine."

He leaned closer to Malfoy's ear and breathed, "I never imagined you could be this sweet."

Malfoy was quiet for a few seconds and Harry feared he'd gone too far. But then:

"I'm usually not."

Harry was glad Malfoy was turned away from him because an enormous smile lit up his face. He buried his head once more in Malfoy's hair and kissed his neck softly. He heard Malfoy release a contented sigh.

Harry realized suddenly — with less surprise than he would have hoped — that if he could do it over again a thousand times, he would always choose to be here instead of Ron's birthday party.

And that thought was frightening indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Fourteen_**  
><strong>

His watch told him it was just past four in the morning when Harry woke up. He'd fallen asleep next to Malfoy on the floor of the Prefects' bathroom. Malfoy, beside him, was still breathing slowly and steadily and Harry's chest was incredibly warm. He smiled to himself and unconsciously ran a hand along Malfoy's side. One of his arms — the one whose shoulder was squished against the ground — was lying out at a perpendicular angle to his body, and the other was tucked against his chest.

Harry hated to wake him, but he also wasn't going to leave him here. Gently, he shook him awake, and he loved the way Malfoy's eyelashes fluttered when he woke up.

"What?" he asked groggily, looking around in confusion. His eyebrows threaded when he caught side of Harry. He seemed to remember what had happened after a moment and he laid his head back down, a small smile creeping onto his face. Harry bit his lip. It was so cute he thought he'd explode.

"Malfoy, it's four in the morning. I have to get back to Gryffindor and you need to get to Slytherin. We have classes tomorrow. Come on."

He helped Malfoy get up and noticed he was shivering.

"Are you cold?" Malfoy nodded. "I'd give you my jumper, but . . ."

Malfoy's face went instantly red. Harry laughed and kissed him, and then proceeded to wrap him in a bear hug.

"I'll take you to your dorm," he said into his ear. Malfoy shivered again, whether from Harry's breath or the cold, Harry didn't know, and seemed to press closer.

"You're like a bloody tangible Heating Charm, Potter."

Harry smiled. "You've got this," he said, tugging on the sleeve of the jumper. "You can keep it."

"It smells like you. . . ."

Harry froze. This statement alone caused a pit to form in his stomach that had everything to do with Anthony. He supposed it was because the thought of Malfoy wearing his jumper and inhaling his scent was about a thousand times more intimate than giving him a hand job, somehow. It spoke volumes about Malfoy's feelings towards him. Harry, however, decided not to point this out, but put on a smirk instead.

"Like the way I smell?" he teased. Malfoy blushed again but turned around and began heading toward the door. Harry was filled with the urge to grab him from behind and pull him close again — so he did. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy's stomach and pulled him against his chest. It was, like Malfoy's admission, an intimate gesture, but he pushed the thought aside because he enjoyed this too much.

He realized he could have happily stayed this way for hours, whispering into Malfoy's ear and making him blush and squirm like a little girl, but he _had_woken Malfoy up in order to get back to the common room. So he planted a quick kiss on the back of Malfoy's neck and released him. He gathered up Ron's broom and held the door open.

"Where's your Cloak?" Malfoy asked, as they began their descent toward the dungeon.

Harry shrugged. "I didn't have it with me when that kid gave me the note."

"So then why are you walking me down?"

Harry smiled and took Malfoy's hand. "I want to."

When they reached the common room Malfoy turned to him, presumably to say goodnight, but Harry pulled him into a rather long kiss instead. When he pulled away, Malfoy's breathing was unsteady.

"Goodnight, Potter."

"'Night, Malfoy," he said with a smile. And then Malfoy disappeared into the common room and it was once again a blank wall. Harry stared at it for a moment, reliving the past few hours, before turning and making to head to the stairs. He was stopped, however, when he heard the sound of the stone wall-door sliding open. He spun around and whipped his wand out without thought, suddenly face-to-face with Pansy Parkinson, pajama-clad and ruffled.

"Potter, wait!" she said, holding up her unarmed hands. Harry drew his eyebrows together and lowered his wand a fraction.

"What do you want?"

"Potter, listen . . . I . . ." She bit her lip and looked at the entrance to Slytherin, which had closed again, and back to him.

"You what?"

"I know about . . . about you and Draco . . ."

Harry's mouth fell open but he did not lower his wand any more. Indeed, he raised it to full height again.

"How do you know?"

"Oh, he _told_me, didn't he?" She sounded nervous and she was glancing at the entrance so much someone who didn't know there was a door there might think she had a twitch.

"He . . . told you?"

"Will you please put your wand down? You're making me anxious!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, that's the point, isn't it?"

"I'm not going to attack you! I just wanna talk."

Harry scoffed. "What could you possibly have to say to me? If you're planning on telling me off, you may as well save your breath, because I don't wanna hear it."

"I'm not going to tell you off!" she said, louder than before. Harry's eyes went wide and he lowered his wand a bit again. "Now, will you _please_just put that away and listen to me?"

For some strange reason, it didn't occur to Harry to disobey. Something in the hysteric way Parkinson was talking told him she really didn't mean any harm.

When she saw him stuff his wand into his pocket, she sighed in relief.

"What did you want to say?"

"Look . . . Draco would kill me if he knew . . . please don't tell him —"

"He told you not to tell me?"

"Of course he did!" she shouted, and then looked around nervously. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke again. "He thinks you'd be furious if you knew he'd told me. But you shouldn't be! I think it's . . . it's great — wonderful — if you're helping him with his eating disorder."

This last caused Harry to relax his posture the rest of the way. So that's what she wanted. To ask about Malfoy's eating disorder. Had she noticed the improvement? Was she going to _thank_him? Ask him how she could help? Harry felt as though any of these would put him into shock.

When he stayed silent she continued: "I, er, don't want to interfere if it's already going well, but I . . . I care about him and. . . . I was just hoping there was something I could do to help . . . Or maybe if you could, every once in a while, tell me what's going on. . . ."

Harry saw, with shock, that there were tears building in Parkinson's eyes.

"I really care about him, you know?" she whispered. Harry could only nod. "It kills me to see him hurting himself. And ever since he's started hanging around you more he's been eating a little bit and he's seemed a little happier. He told me last night that you two had gotten into a fight, but I guess that's . . . well, you must be talking again . . . ?"

"We are," Harry said quietly. "I . . . I was with him in the Prefects' bathroom most of the night."

"Your friends are . . . okay with it . . . ?"

"That's not really your business, is it?" Harry said sourly.

"Right, sorry, I just . . ." She took a deep breath and seemed to collect her thoughts. "I care about him," she repeated, "and I just want to do whatever I can to help, to be there for him. I think he thinks I'm disappointed, and that's why he won't tell me, but I'm just scared for him and . . ." She trailed off, and Harry saw a few tears stream down her cheeks. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a female, and somehow females were just easier to approach, but Harry found himself walking closer.

"It's not your fault," Harry said. "He thinks he's fat."

Parkinson nodded. "That's what Blaise told me. I get it, I do, I'm a woman, you know? I know how it feels to be insecure about your body. But I think . . . well, I know with him it's different. And we were brought up in families that not only didn't talk about feelings, but forbade it. It was the height of weakness to show emotion. And I just don't know what to do or how to get through to him. I'm no good at talking either."

Harry gave her a small smile and it seemed to soothe her a bit. "You obviously care about him." She nodded fervently. "That's all you need to do. Be his friend. Support him like you have been, I guess. I'm not an expert. I don't know why he listens to me."

_Because he likes me_, a voice in his head told him. He shook it off.

"Are you going to tell him we —"

"Oh no," Parkinson said quickly. "He'd have a fit. Don't tell him I talked to you. Even though we're in . . . sort of in agreement, he wouldn't like it. I know Draco. He doesn't like people discussing him. He'd feel like we're trying to control him or something. No, just keep doing what you're doing and I'll do the same." She paused, then: "And, um, also . . ." She was facing the floor as she said this, her cheeks a bit red in the dull glow of the torches that lined the dungeon walls. "I don't know about your friends —"

"No, you don't," he practically growled. She nodded and stared at the floor ever more intently.

"Right. I was just . . . If they won't talk to you about him, just for whatever reason, you can — er — find me."

Despite the fact that Harry knew she was doing this for herself, because she wanted to talk to him about Malfoy, he appreciated the cunningness of it. She was acting as though she'd be there for him if he needed to talk, but really she'd be getting something out of it for herself. He supposed he should be offended that she didn't think him smart enough to understand this, but he didn't say anything.

And he couldn't fault her for it, either, because she cared about the same person he did right now.

_Must still be alcohol in me_, he thought suddenly. _I haven't thought about Anthony once._

He shook that thought off and nodded to her.

"I'll remember that," he said. Parkinson gave him a thankful smile and turned back to head into her dorm. Harry had only taken a few steps in the opposite direction when she called his name again. He turned and found her running toward him.

"I forgot to say before," she said, panting a bit from the quick sprint. Her cheeks were pinker than they should be, though, and Harry realized she was blushing. "I'm sorry, um, about . . ." She cleared her throat and seemingly forced herself to make eye contact with him. "I called you out in the Great Hall," she said softly. And Harry knew precisely what she was talking about. When Voldemort's voice had flooded the Great Hall and told the students to hand Harry over, and Pansy Parkinson had pointed him out, shouted, "He's there! Someone grab him!" And the rest of the school had surrounded him within seconds.

"Yeah, you did," he said. A few more tears dripped along her cheeks and she appeared unable to meet his eye anymore. "But it was brave of you to apologize. So I accept it."

Parkinson stared up at him as though she'd never seen something quite like him before.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her eyes wide in astonishment. Harry nodded a little awkwardly.

"Yeah. Well, I'll, er — see you later, then, I suppose."

She gave him a brief, albeit strained, smile, and headed back into the Slytherin common room. As Harry walked back to his own dorm he felt like his head was spinning, and it wasn't only due to the last of the alcohol wearing off. Talking to Parkinson just now had made this whole thing feel a little more real. Like he was actually involved in Malfoy's life, because one of his friends was now asking Harry for updates. It wasn't as though he hadn't really been planning to help before — he had. The proof was in the fact that Malfoy had started eating. But somehow he'd disconnected his real life from the situation. It didn't feel that way now, especially after some of the things that had been said and done tonight.

He was still deep in thought when he entered the Gryffindor common room and was therefore startled when Ron shouted his name.

"You're a right prat, do you know that?"

Harry stared at him in shock, having been stunned into silence. But then his mind began to catch up with him and his stomach sank. Oh, God. Ron was _pissed_.

"Ron, I —"

"You were with Malfoy, weren't you?"

"Ron —"

"Weren't you?" Ron's face was bright red and Harry imagined him foaming from the mouth. Instead of being an amusing thought, it was terrifying.

"Yes," he said quietly. Ron laughed mirthlessly, cruelly, and turned on the spot, heading up to the dorms without another word. A horrible pit had formed in Harry's stomach. He wanted to strangle himself. God, what had he done?

He looked to Hermione, who was staring at him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment.

"Hermione —" he tried weakly, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

"That was too far, Harry," she said. "It wasn't bringing Firewhiskey up from the dungeons; it was his birthday party."

"But Malfoy was —"

"It doesn't matter." She sighed. "I'm not going to defend you this time. What you did was wrong and inconsiderate."

"Hermione, I didn't mean . . ." But she'd already turned around as well and begun ascending the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry tried to swallow but his mouth felt too dry, his tongue too big for his mouth, and his throat seemed to have closed up. He dropped onto a sofa and stared down at his hands.

What a mess.

And the very worst part, the thing that made him feel like a truly terrible human being, was the fact that he wished Malfoy were here to help himself forget what had just happened.

* * *

><p>After classes the next day, Draco brought Pansy outside so they could talk. It was still bitterly cold, but like the last time he'd gone outside to think, he hoped the cold would clear his head. (Also, he knew the Gryffindor team was having Quidditch practice in the evening today: Harry had told him this between classes when he'd pulled him aside to ask how he was doing. Draco's heart had swelled like some first year Hufflepuff.) He wanted to tell Pansy about what had happened last night — not the details, of course. But he had to admit that he'd called for Harry instead of letting Harry come to him like she'd told him to do.<p>

"I don't understand why we have to be _outside_," Pansy huffed, rubbing her arms for warmth. They'd stopped on top of a small hill a short way from the castle. Every so often, Draco could see Harry fly above the stands.

"The cold helps me think," he said. Pansy looked at him dully. "If you don't want to hear about what happened last night we can go in —"

"Oh, just tell me!" she said, trying to sound angry and failing. Draco smirked.

"Well —" he began, but cut off and blushed when he remembered he'd have to tell her why he'd called Harry in the first place. "Er — well, I wasn't feeling good. I . . . my stomach hurt." He glanced at her face to see if she was buying it. He didn't think she was, but thankfully she had enough tact not to call him out. "I know you said to wait for him to come to me . . . but I wrote a note telling him to meet me somewhere and gave it to another student — a Hufflepuff, I think — and he came a few minutes later."

"Potter did?"

"Yeah."

Pansy's expression became unreadable. While she seemed to be thinking, Draco glanced over at the pitch again. Harry appeared to be talking to someone else on a broom floating beside him.

"Is that why you made me come outside?"

Draco whipped his head around to look at Pansy, having nearly forgotten she was there.

"W-what?"

She gestured her head in the direction of the pitch. "You knew they were having practice today." It wasn't a question. Draco looked down and hoped Pansy would mistake his blush for color from the cold. "So what happened last night?"

Draco let out a relieved sigh at the change of subject. Well, sort of.

"He came in and asked me what was wrong. And I told him I wasn't feeling well. Everything happened kind of fast after that. He kissed me, and then before I knew it he had me on my back and he was giving me a hand job." He consciously neglected to mention that they'd slept together for several hours on the floor of the loo.

"Shit," Pansy whispered, looking impressed. Draco couldn't help but laugh. "I'm gonna be honest, I would never have pegged Potter as a cheater. He must really like you, Draco."

He felt his face flame further. "I don't think so," he said quietly, wishing he could be lying.

"Draco, people like Potter don't go around pulling other blokes' dicks out of their trousers when they have a boyfr —"

"I know that, I'm not saying . . ." he stopped and closed his eyes, trying to put together in his mind what, exactly, he was thinking. "What I mean is, he feels like he has to save everyone."

Pansy still looked confused. Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes. "Harry needs to be the hero —"

"Harry?"

If she hadn't noticed before, Draco was sure she'd be able to see his blush now. He was positively on fire. All day he'd been thinking of Potter by his given name, and now he'd accidentally said it out loud — and in front of Pansy, no less!

"Pansy —"

"I don't think less of you, Draco," she sighed. "If anything, I'd be more upset if you continued to call him Potter when you clearly don't hate him anymore."

He looked over at the pitch again, but Harry wasn't in sight. He swallowed.

"Right. Anyway, he heard what Zabini said in the corridor that day outside of Charms, and he . . . he thinks there's something wrong with me, too. . . ."

"You mean he knows you're not eating and that you throw up your food."

Draco swallowed again and refused to look at her.

"He can't help but get involved when he thinks he can be the hero. Do you see what I mean?"

He saw Pansy's eyes flicker over to the pitch as well and then back to him.

"You're saying you don't think he really likes you, but is just interested in the prospect of saving someone. You, in this case." Draco nodded. She pursed her lips. "Well, I think you're wrong, but I haven't been there. Are you going to stop seeing him?"

"No!" he shouted before he could contain himself. Pansy smirked.

"Good. You seemed a little brighter today, did you know that?" When he only looked at the ground again, she chuckled. "Come on, let's go in. It's really effing cold, Draco."

Pansy began walking ahead of him, but before Draco followed he looked at the pitch again. He could see Harry, and Draco could just tell that he was looking this way. He didn't know if Harry could see him looking as well, but as he turned and hurried to catch up with Pansy, it seemed a little less chilly outside.


	15. Chapter 15

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Fifteen_**  
><strong>

It was with great effort that Harry dragged himself to Potions on Wednesday morning. He felt minimally better when he saw Malfoy sitting in his usual seat, but it did nothing to dispel his exhaustion. He'd hardly slept last night. Quidditch practice had been brutal, as Ron was refusing to speak to him; Ginny had been off because she was constantly casting suspicious glances at both of them; and the rest of the team seemed to be affected by their captain's negative spirit.

In any case, he was not happy to be sitting in class, and he didn't think it would get much better throughout the day, even in the classes he enjoyed.

Professor Hawthorne tapped the board smartly with his wand as soon as he entered the room and the students became silent. Harry found that this likeness to Snape made him feel even worse. The changes brought about by the war felt like they were pressing down on his shoulders and making his neck ache. Ron still wouldn't look at him and Hermione appeared to be conflicted, though it looked like she was taking Ron's side as she hadn't glanced at him, either. Anthony had tried to catch his eye before the professor walked in, but Harry had pretended not to notice.

And then there was Malfoy, in whom Harry found the most comfort out of all these people. It was like the world had turned itself upside down. He thought he wouldn't be surprised if the Dursleys walked into the room and declared their interest in learning magic.

"Laevus Levus," Professor Hawthorne said, looking around at his class. A torch on the wall reflected briefly off his extraordinarily bald head and Harry glanced at it. "Can anyone tell me what it is?"

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot into the air, though several others did as well. Harry saw Malfoy color and look down at his desk.

"Miss Granger?"

Unlike Snape, Professor Hawthorne favored Hermione. He was a fairly average-sized, middle-age man and dressed professionally, but it contrasted awkwardly with his shiny bald head and the thick facial hair that circled his mouth. Harry had the feeling he considered himself brilliant indeed.

"Laevus Levus is, for all intents and purposes, the opposite of Felix Felicis. It's an _un_lucky potion, used to bring misfortune upon your enemies."

"Excellent, ten points to Gryffindor." Professor Hawthorne's gaze skated over the classroom once again. "The use of Laevus Levus on another person was outlawed in 1756. Brewing the potion was never made illegal, though many Ministry officials have attempted to make it so, particularly after the fall of Gellert Grindelwald, during whose reign of terror in Germany this potion became popular.

"Today — and for the next week — this is what we will be working on in class. Ingredients and directions are found on page 394 of your textbook." The scraping of chairs began but was immediately silenced when Professor Hawthorne fired a spell into the air. "Anyone found smuggling even a drop of this potion out of the classroom — Merlin forbid using it — will receive detention for three solid months. Is that understood?" The classroom nodded as one and resumed action.

Harry looked over to Ron only half-heartedly to find that he was already walking to a station with Hermione. The latter looked away quickly when she saw him staring. Harry sighed and went over to Neville, who accepted his partnership happily, despite, Harry knew, having been privy to countless rumors, not to mention from Ron himself.

"Doesn't sound like a very pleasant brew, does it?" Neville said as Harry set up the cauldron.

"I didn't know Felix Felicis had a counterpart," he said. "Must be awful. No wonder it was outlawed."

"Yeah. . . . Oi, it looks difficult, too. Only takes a week, but you've got to keep an eye on it. It uses a lot of ingredients. I guess we'll have to come down here and tend to it outside of class time."

"Wonderful," Harry bit out, and then sent an apologetic glance at Neville when he realized how it had sounded. "What'll we need right now? I'll go get the stuff."

"Er — let's see. . . . Better get boomslang skin, a few leeches — get five, in case we screw up cutting them — and a mango."

"A mango?" Harry asked, bemused. Neville shrugged.

"'S what it says."

He mirrored Neville's shrug and set off toward the cupboard containing the ingredients.

"Oh, my apologies," Professor Hawthorne said loudly. Harry saw Hermione walking away from his desk. "The mangoes are to be found in several boxes at the back of the cupboard with Cooling Charms placed on them."

Harry smirked at the confused expression that twisted the faces of most of his classmates. He only had trouble finding the boomslang skin, which had been stored behind a few other ingredients. When he walked back out he saw that Malfoy was already cutting his own mango carefully, Parkinson beside him slicing a leech.

Just as he set the ingredients down on his station he heard the characteristic chuckle of Zacharias Smith. He rolled his eyes.

"Might wanna have your partner do that, eh, Malfoy? Just in case you accidentally eat some."

Harry immediately saw red. "Shut the fuck up, Smith!" he shouted. It hadn't occurred to him before that other students at Hogwarts speculated about Malfoy's eating disorder. Of course, all the Gryffindors and Slytherins had heard what Zabini had said in the Charms corridor, but Harry hadn't put it together in his mind that others wouldn't have forgotten, just like him. And besides that, not everyone was as clueless as him and Ron. Some people may have already been wondering before Zabini fairly confirmed their suspicions.

It took a moment for him to realize everyone in the room was staring at him. The only pair of eyes he felt, however, were Malfoy's, and the boy looked frightened.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Hawthorne said sharply.

Harry looked to Malfoy — for what, he didn't know— and was shocked when a scowl took the place of the anxiety.

"Keep your large head out of it, Potter," he spat, and it sounded so like his old self that Harry was rendered speechless. Ron and Hermione were looking at him strangely, as though they didn't know what to believe. Anthony too, though he seemed to suspect something.  
>"I'm sorry, professor, I —"<p>

"I don't want to hear it, Mr. Potter. Detention tonight directly following dinner. Twenty points from Gryffindor for foul language." He pierced the class with another stare. "Continue."

Harry stood in complete silence for another moment before looking over to Malfoy and Parkinson, who seemed to be making it a point not to look anywhere but at their station. Finally, he looked around to Neville.

"What was that?"

Harry shook his head and let out a breath. He began chopping a leech angrily.

"I don't like Smith."

"More than you don't like Malfoy?"

Harry looked up at Neville, who wasn't very good at hiding his curiosity. He sighed again and continued to chop.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>Detention was tedious. Hawthorne had him scrub tables and cauldrons, and Harry made a point of checking on his and Neville's potion before he left. That way they wouldn't have to worry about it tomorrow since they didn't have the class.<p>

It was nearing ten o'clock when he left the dungeon classroom and he pulled the Map out to find that Malfoy was in his dorm. His heart sank. He'd been hoping Malfoy would be in the loo.

On another section of the Map he found Anthony sitting in the library. He pursed his lips in thought. It would be a good idea to talk to him. He hadn't since before Ron's party, and he certainly didn't intend to lose Anthony as a boyfriend. Unless he hated Harry, too, which seemed perfectly likely.

With what felt like a lot of effort, Harry went up to the library and found Anthony immediately. He was one of the only five people in there: all seventh or eighth years, due to curfew.

He wandered over and sat down in a chair on the other side of the table. Anthony looked up at him and smiled.

"Hi," he said brightly, relief almost tangible. Harry fought the urge to bite his lip nervously.

"What are you studying?"

"Hm? Oh . . ." He looked down at his textbook and frowned. "Potions. I'm trying to make up a schedule for me and Terry. When to check on our potion outside of class and all that. You can use it too, if you'd like, with Neville."

"Thanks." Harry reached out and placed his hand over Anthony's. "Sorry I haven't really talked to you since Monday. I've been a little —"

"I know," he said quietly. "It's all right." He turned his hand over to lace their fingers and Harry swallowed silently. "I hope you don't think I'm mad at you." Harry carefully schooled his expression into one that said "Of course I know, silly," but he wasn't sure how well it worked. Anthony continued, "I think it's pretty shite what you did to Ron — mean, even, but, well, like I said before, I'm dating you, not him. I still love you; I just think you need to sort out what you're doing."

Harry slowly slid his hand back and leaned on it, watching as Anthony went back to writing. "I didn't mean to stab him in the back like that," he said. Anthony looked up.

"Were you really with Malfoy?"

"Yeah."

"Just out of curiosity . . . why _did_ you skive off your best mate's party for him? I mean, were you angry at Ron, or —"

"No, of course not!" Harry said loudly, and Madam Pince shushed him. "I just . . . I was already tipsy, and . . . He was having a hard time. Malfoy, that is." He didn't think he should give Anthony the details. That was private.

"So you just stayed with him all night? Did it help him?"

Harry blushed fiercely. He'd done more than help, that was certain. He hoped Anthony would attribute the blush to his embarrassment at having stayed with Malfoy all night.

"Yeah," he said. "I just talked to him. Kept him talking, you know, so he wouldn't think about it."

Anthony nodded, looking mildly impressed. Harry felt awful.

"Regardless of the situation, I do think what you're doing is very kind, Harry," Anthony said with a smile, and leaned across the table to kiss him. Harry was horrified to find that his mind went directly to Malfoy and his lips, and his body, and his pale, smooth skin, and suddenly he could hear Malfoy's ragged breath inside his head and Harry gasped out loud. Anthony pulled away and chuckled. He had an eyebrow raised.

"I'd be all down for that, Harry, if it wasn't already late on a Wednesday night. Maybe this weekend."

Harry laughed a little too erratically and Anthony gave him another look.

"Right. Well, er, I'm gonna head off to bed, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night," Anthony laughed. He leaned over to kiss him again.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't get to see Malfoy again until Friday night, and it wasn't even going to be for very long because he'd promised Anthony he would meet up with him. This wasn't <em>horribly<em> depressing, as he knew he'd be having sex tonight, but he hadn't spent time with Malfoy since the night of Ron's party and he _really, really_ wanted to.

_And_, he thought, a little angrily as he walked into the loo and saw Malfoy sitting with his legs in the tub, _I want an explanation for that mouthing off in Potions._

"Hey," he said, hearing the anger in his own voice. He'd been very upset at first, and then he'd cooled down, but now it was coming back to him at the sight of Malfoy.

Malfoy looked around and smiled a bit when he saw Harry. Harry fought to keep his face neutral.

"I hope my large head isn't taking up too much space?"

Malfoy looked utterly confused. He got up and his rolled-up trouser legs sagged as he walked over to Harry, stopping a few feet away.

"What are you talking about?"

"You were a right prick in Potions when I stood up for you," Harry snapped. Malfoy's eyes widened and he blushed.

"Potter . . . you can't do that in public," he said quietly. "Do you want the whole school to know?"

This statement hit Harry with the force of a bludger. Suddenly he wasn't angry anymore at all; just ashamed of himself for not having thought about that. And for having immediately assumed Malfoy had gone back to being a little bitch.

Although, he supposed he had good reason to assume. After all, up until only a few weeks ago, Malfoy had been a prat for seven years.

"I didn't think about that," Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hate Smith, and I . . ." He felt himself blushing. "It just pissed me off when he said that."

Malfoy smiled shyly — brilliantly — and closed the space between them so he could kiss Harry. He pulled away just as Harry got his hands on Malfoy's hips.

"You'll have to keep the hero business to a minimum, I'm afraid," he said with a smirk, and Harry bent down to kiss him once more. When Malfoy spoke again he sounded out of breath.

"Concerning me, at least."

"What about when we're alone?" he whispered against Malfoy's ear, and the boy shivered. Harry laughed and bit at his lobe.

"Are you sure you're Harry Potter?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Because I don't remember him being this suave."

Harry laughed loudly. "I guess conquering evil has made me a little more charming."

"I don't know if I'd go _that _far—" Malfoy started to say, but Harry cut him off with another kiss. He pulled Malfoy against him and bit down on his lower lip, loving the little breathy whimper he earned. Malfoy had begun fisting his hands in Harry's jumper when Harry had the presence of mind to stop anything before it got out of hand.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy asked, looking put out. Harry kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I'm supposed to see Anthony in a bit. I don't wanna get too carried away."

Malfoy blushed but frowned.

"When do you have to go?" As he said it, his grip on Harry's jumper tightened. Harry wondered if he'd noticed he'd done it.

"About half an hour. He wants to go outside." Malfoy made a face and Harry chuckled. "I agree. It's too cold. But I do like looking at the stars, so I put up with it. And anyway, he really loves being outside."

Malfoy released Harry's jumper and took a step back at that. Harry wanted to hug him and tell him he'd rather be here with him all night, but of course he didn't. And not only because it frightened him that the thought had even crossed his mind.

"I should probably go now, then," Malfoy mumbled, and after rolling down his trouser legs he made for the door. Harry stopped him, stood behind him, twined both arms around his waist. He nuzzled Malfoy's neck and closed his eyes, breathing in his scent.

"Don't go yet," he whispered. He heard Malfoy swallow. "I haven't seen you properly since Monday." Malfoy didn't say a word, but something that felt like very strong emotion gripped Harry's stomach and made him feel like he was going to cry. There were no tears in his eyes, but his gut wrenched and he felt suddenly like the boy in his arms was his whole world.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, making him feel a little dizzy and confused.

He kissed Malfoy's neck softly and spun him around to do the same to his lips.

"How's the eating been?"

"All right." He took Harry's hands off his waist and dropped them and then smiled a little apologetically. "I've eaten a bit at breakfast or lunch this week."

"Have you . . . thrown up?" He still felt awkward asking, like it wasn't his business to do so, even though he knew it was okay.

Malfoy shook his head. "No."

"Good." When he moved in again for yet another kiss Malfoy backed away. Harry cocked his head.

"I just . . . You're seeing Goldstein —"

"I told you it doesn't matter. It didn't matter Monday."

Malfoy flushed. "I know, I just feel weird with you going directly to see him after. . . ."

Harry grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled him into a kiss before he could protest. "Since when," he whispered against Malfoy's lips, "do you base your actions on someone else's wellbeing?"

Malfoy didn't laugh. "It's not for him."

"Then who's it for?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Never mind." And he kissed Harry back; kissed him like he had Monday night when Harry had had his hand on his cock. The snogging was beginning to get out of hand again when Malfoy pulled away. He schooled his features and delicately wiped away the saliva on his lips with his ring finger. When he looked at Harry again, one would not have been able to tell he'd just been involved in a fairly passionate, emotional kiss (save for the bruised lips) had they not been there to witness it.

"I'll see you tomorrow night."

Malfoy nodded. And then, after pulling his sleeves down over his hands in a very uncharacteristically nervous gesture, he walked past Harry and out of the loo. Harry sighed when the door closed behind him.

He hadn't liked the way Malfoy had responded to that conversation about Anthony. He'd known before that Malfoy felt _something _towards him — that much was obvious. But until tonight he'd been trying to tell himself it wasn't a big deal. That it wasn't a crush, or Merlin forbid anything more.

But the way Malfoy's hands had tightened in his jumper when he'd mentioned Anthony. And the way he'd looked almost hurt when Harry had said he was going outside with Anthony because _Anthony _enjoyed it.

But he wasn't going to say anything. Not yet. Not until he was sure. And maybe not even then. It wasn't worth the possible — probable — fight that would ensue. If he was right, Malfoy would either deny it and lash out, or else be completely distraught that Harry knew. And most likely lash out. And if he was wrong, Malfoy would be angry that Harry had assumed that. And then he'd lash out.

Fuck, Malfoy was unstable. But that was what Harry liked about him. It drew him closer and turned him on just a little bit more than it pissed him off, and that was enough.

He prayed to whoever would listen that he wasn't digging himself into a hole he wouldn't be able to climb out of.


	16. Chapter 16

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Sixteen_**  
><strong>

Draco decided he didn't feel bad about having lied to Harry. It didn't matter, because he really _was_trying, and even though he hadn't eaten several times this past week like he'd said, he'd eaten once or twice, and that counted for something, right? And anyway, he was going to keep trying, and it would even itself out eventually.

It was easier now. Just a little bit. But still easier. Having someone constantly telling him he was beautiful — it felt good.

It had been a week since that Friday night when Harry had left to go see Anthony outside. Draco had seen him almost every night since then. And every night they would talk, sometimes about Draco, and sometimes about Harry. Draco learned things about the latter that he never would have guessed, such as the fact that the Muggle relatives with whom he'd lived for so long were never kind to him. That they'd starved him and made him do the housework. He even learned that, until he was nearly eleven, he'd slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Imagine that! A bloody closet space under the stairs! Draco had shuddered at the very thought.

They hadn't only talked, though. They snogged a lot, and Harry had gone down on Draco once. Draco was terrified to reciprocate: his gag reflexes were incredibly sensitive, and he knew from the last time he'd tried that this put quite a damper on his attempts. Harry hadn't pushed him, nor had he asked why Draco was hesitant.

The farthest they'd gone had been yesterday, when Harry had pressed their cocks together and gotten them off at the same time.

Draco was starting to scare himself. Whenever he thought about Harry, he got this warm sensation in his stomach that had nothing to do with arousal. He did his best not to dwell on it.  
>On the bright side, he'd decided it was okay to be seen in public with Harry; not a <em>lot<em>, but the boy didn't have his best friends at the moment and so could often be found sitting by himself in the library or, sometimes, with Longbottom or Goldstein.

Draco wasn't sure it was the best idea, as it seemed even more Gryffindors were keeping their distance from Harry now. But Harry had looked so happy when Draco had sat down with him in the library, so he merely shrugged it off. No skin off his back, after all. He had virtually no fans at this school save for Pansy. If Harry didn't mind being affected by that — well, he was every bit the hero all the books said he was, wasn't he?

It was Friday and Draco was supposed to meet Harry again tonight in the Prefects' bathroom. As usual, he was more excited than he cared to admit, but it was clouded with worry this time, as well. Because for breakfast, in a guilty attempt to make up for lying, he'd eaten two pieces of toast with _butter_, and he could literally feel it screaming inside his stomach, bubbling and stretching his skin and hardening into fat.

He could feel Harry's eyes on him in every class, but he was so preoccupied with trying to make the feeling go away — and with telling himself that purging would be an awful idea — that he never once looked back at him.

* * *

><p>"So," Anthony said with forced nonchalance, "how're things with Malfoy?"<p>

Harry flipped a page in his textbook and pretended to squint at a line.

"Fine," he said and flipped another page. He felt Anthony's stare.

"I'm surprised you've been hanging around him. Everyone's talking about it."

Harry's eyebrows contracted but he didn't look up. "Since when has that bothered me?"

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Anthony shrug.

"I guess it hasn't. I was just making an observation."

Harry sighed and flipped the cover shut. "I don't care what everyone thinks. I decided that it doesn't matter if everyone knows I'm talking to him. They don't know why. Besides, I've nothing to hide. It's his private business that's up for grabs, not mine."

_That_ was a lie. But, he thought, maybe it would help to convince Anthony even more that there was nothing to worry about. That nothing was going on between him and Malfoy. Because, after all, if something _were_ going on (which it was), why would they openly hang around each other? Normally people wouldn't. So perhaps Anthony would take their public friendship to point toward innocence.

Harry hoped so, at least.

"I didn't say you did. I was just bringing it to your attention."

"I've noticed for myself, thanks," Harry said rather irritably. Anthony raised a brow. "Sorry," he sighed. "I just . . . I _have_ noticed. I can't walk through the common room without hearing about it. It's not like I've never had to deal with this before, I just figured that, you know, after the war was over the gossip would stop."

"I don't think people will ever stop talking about you, Harry," Anthony laughed. Harry put on a smile, but that comment annoyed him more than he let on.

"Yeah. Well, I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Anthony nodded. When Harry put all his books in his bag and stood up Anthony said, "Seeing Malfoy?" Harry turned.

"Why?"

"Just curious. Are you?"

Harry considered his boyfriend for a moment before answering.

"Yeah."

Anthony nodded contemplatively. "Have fun." He stood up and planted a rather possessive-feeling kiss on Harry's lips. "Love you."

"You too," Harry said slowly, watching as Anthony left the library, leaving him standing there in a haze of bewilderment.

A few minutes later, at nearly eleven o'clock, Harry stepped into the Prefects' bathroom and dropped his Cloak on the floor. He looked around and didn't see Malfoy anywhere, so he toed off his trainers and twisted a knob on the side of the tub to start the water running. He'd just reached for a knob on the far end of the tub that released one of the bubble solutions when he heard his name.

"Harry?"

He looked around, startled, and saw Malfoy sitting with his knees against his chest near the stalls. Harry didn't know what to feel more shocked about: the fact that Malfoy looked _really _bad — almost as bad as he'd looked Monday night, maybe even worse — or that he'd just used Harry's name.

"Er — h-hi, I didn't see you there."

After a moment of staring his brain caught up with him and he ran over, squatting in front of Malfoy.

"Are you all right?" That was a stupid question. Obviously he wasn't all right. Harry internally rolled his eyes at himself. "I mean . . . what happened? What —?"

"I need to throw up," Malfoy rasped. He wasn't looking at Harry. His eyes were trained on his knees, wide open, as though terrified of something. Harry's heart began racing much too fast.

"You . . . what?"

"I'm sorry. I ate too much. I can feel . . . I need to . . ." And without further explanation he reached out with a feeble hand and tried to push Harry away, who, having no warning, and having been balanced on his toes, had to reach out behind himself to keep from falling backwards. Malfoy started to get up, but Harry was quicker. He pushed him back against the wall and looked at him sternly.

"You're not throwing up," he said. Malfoy looked crazed.

"Potter, I need to! Let me go!" He began struggling, and though it was weak, the frantic way with which he seemed to need to purge seemed to give him extra strength. Harry had to literally grab his upper arms and squeeze. "POTTER!" he screamed. He looked furious and almost like his old self, only it was laced with desperation and insanity and it was even more pathetic. "LET GO OF ME!"

Harry was so startled when he saw tears begin to slide down Malfoy's pale cheeks that he did let go, and he could only watch with his mouth slightly open as Malfoy threw a stall door open and landed on his knees in front of the toilet.

He walked over slowly, not quite aware of himself, and sat on his knees beside the shaking boy. Malfoy was forcing his left sleeve up to the elbow, revealing the Dark Mark, stark against his skin, and before Harry could contemplate what was about to happen Malfoy's hand disappeared inside his mouth — _much _too far inside — and after a moment his whole body shuddered and jolted forward, and he made a horrible gagging sound. Harry felt a single tear glide down his own cheek, but it didn't register. He placed a gentle hand on Malfoy's heaving back and cringed when the sound of bile hitting the water echoed in the small space.

It was terrifying to watch. Malfoy was breathing heavily and swallowing. He seemed wholly unaware of Harry's presence. But Harry kept his hand there, if only for his own comfort, and found that when Malfoy reinserted his fingers into his mouth he gripped Malfoy's shirt, feeling his nails pinching the skin underneath.

Malfoy's back was sweaty. Another tear made its way down Harry's face and dripped onto his shirt.

When he reached forward and pulled Malfoy's hair back from his forehead, he wasn't sure whether he was doing it for Malfoy or himself. He only knew that he needed to feel like he was helping, like he was doing something, like he was _connected_.

But Malfoy didn't do it again. He stayed bent double over the toilet, breathing heavily, for another few minutes before he reached for Harry's hand that still held his hair back and laced their fingers. Harry was glad he'd used his clean hand, though he thought that if Malfoy had used the other, he wouldn't have pulled away.

When he moved away from the toilet, it immediately flushed and Malfoy turned to him, face wet from tears and sweat, bags under his eyes, and he said, so softly and raspy that Harry almost didn't hear it, "I'm sorry."

Harry pulled him forward by their twined hands and into a hug. He felt Malfoy keep his left hand in the air over Harry's shoulder, and the gesture made him only want to hug the boy tighter. He buried his face in the sweaty neck and breathed for a moment, then pulled away and kissed his shoulder.

"Please don't do that again," he said finally, looking at Malfoy's face and repressing a shudder. Malfoy swallowed. Harry wondered if it tasted like vomit. He looked so tired. So drained. So helpless. Harry wanted to take him to bed and hold him and let him sleep until he'd be well again.

"Don't ask me to make a promise I can't keep."

Harry ran a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked back up Malfoy wasn't crying anymore but he looked frightened.

"Why can't you promise me that? I thought you were doing better?"

Malfoy looked away and his cheeks colored. Harry felt anger getting ready to boil in his stomach. It was an odd sensation. He wasn't angry _yet_, but he was preparing for it.

"Did you lie to me? When you said you'd been doing well?"

"No, I . . . I didn't lie, I —"

"What?" Harry snapped. Malfoy drew away from him and sat back against his side of the stall. He looked like a wild animal backed into a corner. But Harry wasn't afraid. He was angry. _Now_ he was angry. So Malfoy had lied to him? About having eaten so well? And he'd put Malfoy's prick in his mouth. What a fucking whor—

"I didn't vomit, if that' what you mean," he said, interrupting Harry's thoughts, which immediately fled.

"Then what did you do?"

"I just . . . didn't eat as much as I'd said. Or as many times. It was more like . . . twice, and I only had breakfast. . . ."

Harry rubbed his palm into his eye and sighed.

He was still upset, but not angry. He was frustrated that this was honestly as hard as he'd hoped it wouldn't be. Besides, he knew it wouldn't get them anywhere for him to get angry. He took a moment to compose himself and then opened his eyes and took Malfoy's hands.

"Here's what I want you to promise me."

Malfoy looked skeptical, but he didn't argue.

"Promise me that you will do what you can, and that you'll _tell me the truth_. Don't eat more than you know you can handle at a time. _Don't purge_, Malfoy. If you can't eat one day, fine, just _don't_ throw up. Tell me that you didn't eat, tell me the truth, and we'll talk. I won't get mad. I just . . . I can't handle knowing you might be doing that somewhere."

He leaned in and kissed Malfoy's neck very delicately, delighting in the shiver it caused.

"And anyways, I can't kiss you now. And I'd been looking forward to doing that."

Malfoy cracked half a smile and Harry kissed his cheek.

A sudden loud noise commanded both of their attention. Harry turned to find that the knob from which the water had been pouring had shut itself off and was yelling at him that the tub was full and that he was irresponsible and did he think this world held endless amounts of water?

Harry smirked at Malfoy, whom he was glad to see wore a real smile now, and said, "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. I was gonna take a bath anyway."

They went over to the tub and Harry stripped down to his boxers. Malfoy stood there blushing and looking incredibly reluctant.

"You know I don't think you're ugly," he said, and put a hand on the hem of Malfoy's shirt. When Malfoy only bit his lip nervously Harry looked into his eyes and whispered, "We'll go slowly."

It took a moment, but Malfoy finally nodded and allowed Harry to start pulling the shirt upwards. He was careful not to let his eyes wander to Malfoy's body, not because he didn't want to look, but because he knew it would make Malfoy anxious. They kept eye contact the whole time and when the shirt was finally hanging in Harry's hand, Malfoy wrapped his arms around himself. Harry dropped the shirt and gently took his hands, pulling them away from his body.

"You have to learn to be comfortable around me," he said. Malfoy's face flushed and he looked down, but he kept his arms at his sides. Harry smiled and began undoing the belt on Malfoy's denims. The moment it came loose the trousers fell around Malfoy's ankles.

"Why do you wear clothes that are too big for you?" he asked.

"To hide my body."

Harry sighed and grabbed his hands once more, this time leading him toward the tub. He kissed Malfoy's cheek, lingering there for a moment, and then jumped in. From underwater he could hear the splash and feel the waves he created. When he came back up he shook his hair and grinned up at Malfoy. The boy was dripping and looked irritated.

"You were gonna get wet anyway," Harry said cheekily. Malfoy rolled his eyes and stepped forward. His arms twitched in a habitual desire to cover himself, but Harry saw him consciously fight it. "Come on."

It took another minute, but eventually Malfoy seemed to give in and he slid into the water.

Once he was in he seemed to relax a little. Harry stood behind him and washed his back and shoulders slowly, taking his time to run his hands over the pale skin through which he could just see Malfoy's spine. He ran his fingers over each vertebra and felt Malfoy shiver. As he did so, he thought back to what had just happened in the toilet stall, to the way Malfoy had looked hunched over with his fingers down his throat, and how he, Harry, had felt while it was happening. He wasn't sure when he'd started to care this much about Malfoy; certainly he hadn't at first? At first it had been a curiosity thing, which had turned into an honest desire to help, but then, what was it now? Why was he standing behind Malfoy in the tub of the Prefects' bathroom, scrubbing his back and his shoulders, and trying to will away the pit in his stomach that had formed the instant he'd seen Malfoy curled up against the wall?

And why was it becoming harder and harder to convince himself that he still loved Anthony?  
>Harry sighed. He slowed his hands and looked at the back of Malfoy's neck, and he was not surprised when he was visited by a strong desire to kiss it.<p>

Ignoring the increasingly small protests from his brain, Harry ceased scrubbing entirely and instead wrapped his arms around Malfoy, pulling him against his chest and planting his lips directly on the spot where Malfoy's neck met his shoulder. He could feel Malfoy's spine against his chest and was a bit disturbed by the fact that he was beginning to feel aroused.

Malfoy must have felt his arousal, or else was simply reacting to the continued kisses being administered to his neck, because he eventually said, "P-Potter, what are you doing?"

"Kissing your neck," he said with a smirk against Malfoy's skin. He began absently making circles on Malfoy's stomach with his thumb. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay . . ."

He rested his chin on Malfoy's shoulder but continued the motion with his thumb.

"Do you notice the things people say about you? The rumors and everything?"

He felt Malfoy tense. "You mean like Smith."

"Yeah. Like that. And like . . . I don't know, I mean, when people would talk about me before the war, when everyone called me crazy and a liar, it was different. Because that was, you know, political. Do you hear the things people say about you?"

Malfoy was silent for a moment before answering.

"What kind of things do you mean?" he asked quietly. Harry bit his lip and thought back to some of the horrible things he'd heard lately. Students betting on when he'd finally drop dead; girls gossiping about his eating disorder; blokes calling him a girl.

And he'd heard that term again, the one Hermione had hated so much: manorexic. He'd heard it several times, in fact.

"Have you heard what some people have called you? Manorexic?"

Harry counted three breaths before Malfoy nodded and then whispered, "Yeah."

He got the feeling that Malfoy was becoming very uncomfortable and that the conversation was reaching dangerously unstable territory. And even though he knew it was good to talk about, Harry wasn't sure he'd say the right thing, and anyway, if he was going to be honest with himself, he didn't feel like having that conversation. A) because he felt pretty inept when it came to that sort of thing, and B) he was truly becoming painfully hard, and against Malfoy's arse.

He was only half aware of the path his hand was following toward the waistline of Malfoy's pants, and even less aware of the way he'd begun rocking his hips very slightly.

"Potter," Malfoy whispered, and it was very shaky. Harry turned his head and kissed the side of Malfoy's neck just as his fingers brushed the top of Malfoy's pants. "Harry!"

Harry swore, a sotto voce "fuck" that he was hardly aware of having uttered. He was only conscious of the fact that his cock felt amazing pressed up against Malfoy's arse, and that it sounded _damn_ good when Malfoy said his name like that.

"Say it again," Harry said as the very tips of his fingers crawled beneath Malfoy's pants, brushing the sensitive skin there. Malfoy's breathing was already incredibly shallow.

"Say _what_ again?" he asked breathlessly. Harry vaguely registered the fact that both of Malfoy's hands were gripping the one of his own that rested on a pale stomach. Malfoy's nails dug into his skin. Harry's hand ventured farther, stopping when it was half-covered by fabric and he felt hair.

"My name." He said it against Malfoy's ear and he heard him swallow in response. "Say my name again."

"Pott —"

Harry instinctually dug the nails of one hand into Malfoy's stomach and the other into the skin above his cock, which was now hard and peeking out from beneath the waistline of his pants.

Draco gasped.

"My first name."

"W-why?"

Harry honestly couldn't tell if he was being a brat or not, but either way, he didn't have time for it. He licked the curve of Malfoy's jaw and then nipped at it lightly.

"Because it sounds nice when you say it."

Malfoy remained silent.

"Would you like to see for yourself?" When the only change this wrought was still heavier breathing, Harry put his lips right up against Malfoy's ear and whispered, "Draco." It was so soft that it was hardly more than a breath. But it had the intended effect. Malfoy whimpered and clutched at Harry's hand inside his pants, pulling at Harry's fingers in an attempt to get them around his cock. Harry chuckled.

"Potter, stop _teasing_ me!"

"I will when you say my name."

Malfoy huffed. "Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes and dug his fingers in harder.

"Try again."

But Malfoy wouldn't do it. He was breathing heavily and chewing on his lip and even tried to pull at Harry's fingers again. Harry's eyebrows contracted and he spun Malfoy so that they were facing each other. Malfoy turned bright red.

"Why won't you say my name?" Malfoy looked down and his cheeks flushed further. Harry smiled incredulously. "Draco, you're _blushing_."

"Stop saying my name!"

Harry moved closer, grabbing Malfoy's hips and pulling them flush against each other so their cocks brushed. Malfoy groaned.

"I don't understand why you won't just say it. You did before."

"It was an accident before!"

"Is it because you actually hate me?" He leaned forward so his lips were just barely touching Malfoy's ear. The boy was trembling. "Or is it the other way round?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Malfoy snarled and tried pushing Harry away. Harry laughed and gripped his hips more tightly, effectively keeping him in place. Malfoy was, after all, fairly weak these days.

"It was just a question." Harry leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Malfoy's lips. "You don't have to say my name if you don't want to."

And to save Malfoy the trouble of bumbling through any more awkward excuses Harry shoved his hand down Malfoy's pants and wrapped his hand around his still-hard cock. He stroked it evenly for several minutes, loving the way Malfoy gripped his arms tightly and breathed against his neck. His own erection was painful and still trapped in his boxers, but he would get to that later. Right now he was entirely absorbed in Draco and his little whimpers and the fact that he'd all but admitted to having a giant crush on Harry.

Harry smiled to himself and kissed Draco's ear.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, and as he'd hoped, Draco whimpered and cried out and came all over Harry's chest and hand. He gave him a minute to catch his breath, holding him up with his hands on his hips, and finally kissed his cheek.

"Please suck me off," he said. Draco went still. "I know you hate it for some reason," he hurried on, "but I want your mouth on me so much. Why are you so opposed?"

Draco pulled away and looked into Harry's eyes.

"You don't . . . have to swallow, if you don't want," Harry said, and a small, kinky part of him sneered.

"It's not that," Draco said softly. "I just . . . I can't . . . very well, because . . ." He took a deep breath. "Throwing up so much . . . it's made my gag reflexes sensitive. I can't . . . I can't deepthroat, not at all, and it's hard for me to k-keep it down, and —"

Harry grabbed Draco's chin, cutting him off, and kissed him again. He still remembered why he hadn't wanted to kiss him before, that he'd just vomited not half an hour ago, but it didn't matter much right this second.

"You don't have to," Harry said with a small smile, which he hoped it was reassuring. Although he thought it was an odd thing to be talking about in this way. As though not being able to deepthroat was a disability or something.

He had to keep himself from chuckling at the thought.

"You don't even have to do it for long. I just . . ." An image of Draco's blond head bobbing in his lap made him groan. "God, I just want to try it, just once, please."

Draco seemed to contemplate this for a moment. When he finally looked back at Harry he appeared to have come to a conclusion. Harry hoped it was one that would end with a mouth on his dick.

Draco put his hands on Harry's chest and pushed him gently backwards, refusing to meet his eyes as he did so, until Harry's back touched the wall of the tub.

"Sit on the ledge," he said quietly. Harry's heart leapt into his throat and began beating so quickly he might have been walking to the forest again to meet Voldemort.

He quickly hopped up and allowed Draco to pull his boxers off entirely. It occurred to him that someone could walk in at any moment, but with his cock out and about to be sucked by Draco Malfoy, he wasn't about to protest.

Draco placed his hands gently on Harry's thighs and Harry sucked in a breath. Draco looked up at him, his expression betraying his nerves, and Harry smiled. He reached out a hand and ran it through Draco's hair, letting him know without words that he didn't need to be so anxious.

And then Draco leaned in and, tentatively, with the very tip of his small, pink tongue, licked the head of Harry's cock. Harry groaned and put a hand out behind him to catch himself. His grip in Draco's hair tightened.

When Draco's lips finally wrapped around the head, his mouth small and hot and wet, Harry's head fell back and his eyes scrunched closed in pleasure. He wasn't Anthony, with his unparalleled skill for giving head, but he was somehow just as good, _better_ even, just because of how shy and nervous Draco was, and because of _who_ he was, and the fact that it was just so endearing that Draco Malfoy was nervous to give him, Harry Potter, a blow job.

Draco's mouth slipped further down the shaft and he choked a bit and pulled back. When he recovered he tried again, and this time he wrapped one of his hands around the base.

Harry was in heaven. Despite the occasional choking, the lack of deepthroating, the obvious lack of skill, it was perfect. And every time he opened his eyes and saw _Draco_, his blond head and his pale face and high cheekbones, he couldn't help but clutch the blond hair more tightly because _fuck_ if he wouldn't trade Anthony's great head for this any day.

He gave Draco fair warning, but Draco only sucked harder on the few inches he had in his mouth. When he realized Draco planned on letting him come in his mouth, Harry lost it.

He was only vaguely aware of whispering Draco's name.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted. It could have been days. All he knew was that when he looked at Draco's flushed face and the small drop of come glistening on his lower lip, Harry wanted nothing more in the world than to taste himself in Draco's mouth.

He dragged him forward and kissed him hard, shoving his tongue past Draco's teeth and moaning when he tasted the mixture of his come and everything that was Draco.

It was incredible. He'd always hated that with Anthony.

He rested his forehead against Draco's and breathed, his eyes closed, his hand still tangled in Draco's hair.

"Thank you," he whispered. Draco's answering chuckle was like music.

Fifteen minutes later, when they were cleaned up and dry and ready to head back to their dorms for the night, Harry pulled Draco to him and kissed him.

"Are you coming to the match tomorrow?"

"'Course I am," Draco laughed. "I don't miss Quidditch matches. Especially when Slytherin's playing."

"You don't mind watching your team lose?"

Draco punched Harry lightly in the gut and Harry pulled him into another, longer kiss.

"Will you still talk to me even when I crush your team?"

Draco stared into his eyes for several long moments. Harry wished not for the first time that he could read his mind.

"As long as you admit afterwards that you only won because I wasn't there to catch the Snitch first."

Harry laughed loudly and pushed him out the door into the corridor beyond. Draco smirked at him.

"It's a deal," he said, and he grabbed Draco's hand before throwing the Cloak over them both and beginning their walk to the dungeon.


	17. Chapter 17

**Manorexic**  
><em>Chapter Seventeen<em>

Harry had been playing Quidditch for seven years now. He wasn't anxious before games anymore. Thus, there were no nerves to get in his way when he strode over to the Slytherin table at breakfast and asked Pansy Parkinson for a word. If there was ever a time he was glad Draco wasn't at breakfast, it was today.

Pansy stared up at him for a moment, shock written across her face, but composed herself quickly despite the stares of everyone in the Hall and followed Harry out into the entrance hall.

"Did you — er — need something?" she asked.

"I'm sorry I haven't talked to you since that night a few weeks ago. I said I'd keep you up to date and I haven't."

"Oh," she breathed. "Well . . . that's okay. I mean, you've been helping Draco quite a bit, and that's really all that matters."

Harry smiled at her and nodded. "How has he been with you?"

Pansy shrugged. "All right. Eating a bit now and then. I don't think he's been vomiting quite as much."

Harry suddenly wished he'd spoken to her sooner. Indeed, if he had, he might have figured out earlier that Draco was lying to him. Even so, at least he'd promised last night that he'd stop, and that if he felt the need, he'd tell Harry. Harry chose not to tell Pansy this, if only because he wasn't sure Draco would want her to know.

"You've been hanging around him in public," she said suddenly. Harry flushed lightly and nodded.

"Yeah. My friends weren't keen on the idea of me talking to him so much, so it doesn't really matter. They're not speaking to me. Well, Ron won't speak to me. I think Hermione would if she wasn't afraid Ron would break up with her or something."

Pansy looked doubtful. "That doesn't sound very Gryffindor to me."

"Me either," Harry said with a shrug. "But I don't hold it against them. They'll come round eventually. They always do. Being angry is too much work."

Pansy considered him for a moment. "I never knew Dumbledore personally, but I have the strangest feeling he would have approved of that."

Harry laughed, a wide smile curving his mouth upwards, and just barely resisted pulling her into a hug.

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," he chuckled. Pansy broke into a grin as well.

"Then people don't say nice things to you enough. Although you'd think so, what with you having defeated the Dark Lord and all that."

"I get plenty of praise," he said, trying not to sound bitter. From her expression he thought he may have failed. "But that's all it is. 'Thank you for killing You-Know-Who!' 'You're so brave!' 'You're a hero!' That's not to say I don't appreciate it, I do, it just gets . . . I don't know . . . tiring, I guess." He laughed weakly. "That sounds so arrogant."

Pansy smiled. "It doesn't. I know what you mean. Everyone else might not have realized it yet, but I think it's clear you did what you did because you wanted to, not because you had to. If nothing else shows that, the fact that you're willing to help Draco does. You never had to jump in and help him, but you did. Especially after he fought on the other side of the war."

"None of you had a choice," he said. Pansy's eyes shone suddenly with something that looked like tears, but she appeared to hold them back. "I get that. Not everyone does, but I do. Now I do, at least. It wasn't as though Draco could have walked out of the Manor and said, 'Actually, Voldemort, I think I'll go fight on the other side. This is getting a little weird for me. It's been fun!'"

Pansy burst into laughter and Harry smiled.

"Things change after a war like that."

Pansy paused to catch her breath and nodded her agreement. "Draco said he heard you say something about Snape the other day." Harry blushed but didn't deny it. He knew exactly what she was talking about. "He said you defended him to Goldstein."

He nodded. "I plan on talking to the Ministry to get his name cleared once school is over," he said. "I also want to see if I can get a portrait of him hung up in the Headmaster's office."

She looked astounded, perhaps having been ready to hear him deny it. "I don't understand," she said softly, her brows contracted.

Harry had been about to ask if she remembered what he'd said to Voldemort before he'd died, that Snape had been Dumbledore's ever since he went after Lily Potter, but then he reminded himself that most of the Slytherins hadn't been there. Especially not her.

"Snape was working for Dumbledore ever since the night he tried to kill me. He was a spy."

Pansy's mouth was agape. "But . . . but _why_?"

Harry shook his head. "It's a long story. I'll tell you some time." He stopped and checked his watch. "Right now, though, I have to go play Quidditch."

Pansy laughed. "Good luck. I'll secretly be cheering for you. So will Draco, though he'll never admit it."

Harry squeezed her shoulder before turning to head back into the Great Hall and round up his team. His heart swelled at the knowledge that Pansy was wrong — Draco had already as good as told Harry he'd be there for him.

* * *

><p>The Slytherin Seeker hovering on the other side of the pitch was the same boy — Harper, a bloke from Ginny's year — who'd taken Draco's place in sixth year when he'd been "too ill to play." Harry smiled to himself at the memory, remembering how furious he'd been, how distraught at the knowledge that he couldn't follow Draco and find out what he was up to.<p>

But his thoughts were quickly shoved to the side when he saw Harper dive for something on his end of the pitch. He sped up for just a moment, raking the air for any glint of gold, and stopped when he saw Harper pull out of the worst feint he'd ever had the misfortune of witnessing. He felt almost embarrassed for the poor bloke.

He didn't return his attention to his previous thoughts, but instead glanced at the Slytherin stands, succeeding in spotting Draco within only moments due to his hair. Next to him was Pansy, and though she was wrapped up in a Slytherin scarf and sported a similarly-themed hat, she seemed to be smiling, and Gryffindor was twenty points in the lead.

If winning the game didn't still mean a lot to him, Harry might have flown over to there and kissed Draco on the spot, just because he looked so fucking cute in his winter clothes.

* * *

><p>They won by fifty points, Harry having caught the Snitch when Slytherin had been leading by one hundred. His team just wasn't in shape, and he knew it was mostly because of the current feud between himself and Ron. He hadn't spoken to Ginny, but he was sure she'd been told, and besides, everyone in the school knew he was friendly with Draco now. It wasn't as though they were going through any pains to hide it anymore.<p>

Ron wouldn't even look at Harry as they changed afterwards. Harry saw Ginny sneak a glance once. Dean was once again on the team as a Chaser and he seemed to be sticking to the rule he and Seamus had been living by ever since Ron had stopped talking to him and news had spread that Harry was hanging around with Draco: he simply didn't talk to him unless there was a reason to do so. He wasn't unfriendly when he did, but it grated on Harry's nerves that Dean and Seamus could be that stupid.

The others — Demelza Robins and Peakes and Coote, who had been on his team sixth year — treated him vaguely the same way. Peakes and Coote were friendly enough most of the time and had slapped Harry on the back, at least, when they'd entered the changing room.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes as Ron and Ginny left together, followed by Demelza and then Coote and Peakes.

When he was alone, he stripped off his sweaty uniform and turned the shower on, placing a towel around his hips to wait until it heated up.

The moment he'd stepped under the hot spray he heard footsteps and his eyes sprang open. Who could that be? There was no reason for any of his teammates to have come back, especially since the only ones who would have before weren't speaking to him.

He squealed in a most undignified way when Draco pushed the curtain of his stall back and smirked at him.

"Hi," Harry said, eyebrows dipped in confusion. Draco grinned and stepped further into the stall, closing the curtain behind him. Harry felt heat simultaneously crawl up his face and down to his groin. The water instantly soaked Draco's hair, making it look more golden than blond, and caused his clothes to stick to his body immodestly.

"I was waiting for you outside, and when everyone but you left I came to see what was keeping you. I didn't know you shower in here."

Harry laughed and grabbed Draco's waist, pulling him flush against his own naked body. Draco blushed prettily, which was rather amusing considering he'd been the one to ambush Harry in the first place.

"How would you have? Unless you frequent the changing rooms often after I play?"

"Only this time, I'm afraid," Draco said breathlessly. His hands had found their way onto Harry's shoulders and he was digging his nails into the skin there.

Harry leaned forward, stopping when his lips were a millimeter from Draco's. He could feel the other's breath and smell a hint of syrup. He grinned.

"Pancakes?" he guessed.

"Waffles."

Harry snorted and closed the distance between them, bringing their lips together in a gentle kiss that nevertheless had him reeling.

"But I didn't see you at breakfast," he said between kisses. And even as he pushed Draco up against the side of the stall, continuing to kiss his lips and his cheeks and his jaw, he was fumbling with the wet shirt and the buttons that wouldn't seem to come undone.

"I stopped in the Great Hall just after you'd left." Harry became fed up with the shirt and growled, ripping the front open and scattering buttons everywhere. "Hey! That was an expensive shirt!" Draco shouted. Harry kissed him again.

"Then you wouldn't have gotten it wet."

Draco glared at him. "Fuck you."

Harry bit his lip and leaned close. "Gladly," he whispered. He felt Draco shudder and reached for the belt looped into his trousers. He managed to steady his hands long enough to deal with more buttons and finally drag Draco's trousers and pants down together. Had they not been wet and sticking to his body, Harry guessed they would have fallen straight to the ground. Draco gingerly stepped out of them and allowed Harry to remove his socks and shoes.

Draco was left naked, standing before Harry with his skinny body, his ribs and his hip bones sticking out, and Harry thought, despite how frightening it was, he'd never seen anyone so wonderful.

He kissed a trail up Draco's leg, past his ribs, and up his neck as he stood.

"How are you so beautiful?"

"How can you think that?"

Harry shook his head and ran his hands down Draco's pale body until he reached his cock, already curved up nearly against his stomach, and wrapped one hand around it. Draco hissed and buried his face in Harry's shoulder. Harry's whole body tingled at the feeling of Draco's breath on his neck.

"Draco," Harry whispered as he stroked him, his other hand on Draco's waist, trying to be as close to the other boy as was physically possible without actually being inside of him.

He swallowed hard.

"Draco," he said again. Draco hummed against his shoulder. "Will you let me?"

He felt Draco freeze against him and he stopped stroking. Draco's breath was harsh and hot and loud even with the sound of the water pouring over them together. When Draco didn't respond for a few seconds Harry wrapped both arms around him and pulled him tightly against his body. Draco looked up and their eyes met.

"Let you what?"

His eyes moved back and forth between Draco's gray ones, trying to think about what he was about to do at the same time that he forced himself not to. Anthony didn't matter right now, morals didn't matter right now; the only thing that mattered was Draco, the boy in front of him, pressed up against him, whom he wanted nothing more than to be connected to in the most intimate way two people could be connected.

"Let me fuck you."

Draco's grip on his arms tightened considerably.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck and kissed him there, earning another shudder and a gasp.

"I want you so much, Draco."

He didn't know if it was the words that did it, the kisses on his neck, or the use of his name, but before he could even contemplate what he would do if Draco agreed he heard him say, "Okay."

Harry's head snapped up, shocked at the easy acceptance. To be honest, he wasn't sure he'd expected Draco to have agreed at all. But then Draco gave him a half smile and Harry stopped thinking about it.

"Are you . . . are you sure?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to stop being bull-headed _now_, Potter."

Harry bit the inside of his lip and smiled adoringly at Draco, feeling suddenly like he couldn't go another moment without ravishing him. He swallowed and ran his hands down Draco's stomach, delighting in the way the muscles trembled beneath the skin — hating the way he could _feel_ how uncomfortable it made Draco. When he looked back up at him Draco was flushed and looked incredibly nervous.

"Turn around," he said quietly. Their eyes stayed glued for another few seconds before Draco did as Harry had asked, putting his hands timidly on the wall of the shower stall. Harry's mouth felt suddenly dry when he was greeted with the sight of Draco's bare arse.

"You're so lovely," he whispered into Draco's ear, skimming his fingers lightly down over his back and stopping on his cheeks. Draco shivered. Harry took a small breath and attached his lips to Draco's neck again at the same time that he parted Draco's arse with his thumbs. He heard Draco swallow. The feeling of running the pad of one thumb over his entrance was thrilling and scary simultaneously, and the fact that it was Draco Malfoy — something he didn't think he would ever fully understand — made it all the more exhilarating.

The moment he pressed lightly with the tip of his thumb he felt Draco tighten reflexively.

"Relax," he breathed. "You said you've done this before, right?"

Draco nodded, though it seemed stilted.

"They weren't . . ." he paused, looking for the right word, Harry assumed, ". . . very gentle," he said finally. Harry's heart clenched.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "I promise."

He could literally feel Draco's entire body relax a fraction at his words, and, quite interestingly, it made him feel more brilliant — more powerful, protective, and content — than he'd ever felt before, including after having defeated Voldemort.

Perhaps, he thought, it was because this was something he didn't _have _to do; it wasn't predicted or written in the stars, it hadn't been Seen or foretold or planned out ahead of time. It was all him.

And Draco.

He smiled into Draco's skin and slipped the tip of his finger — wet already from the shower and soap — into Draco's arse. Draco sucked in a breath, but it sounded more surprised than painful.

"All right?"

"Fine."

So Harry slipped his finger in further, noting that Draco seemed to relax even more as the seconds passed. By the time he reached his knuckle he was confident that it wouldn't hurt Draco to start moving. He slid the finger out, and as he slid it back in Draco released a breath and his forehead fell forward against the wall.

The sound of Draco's increased breathing with every stroke of his finger was causing whatever blood was left in Harry's brain to rush toward his cock. He was only vaguely aware of having decided to slip another finger inside. He only became fully aware when Draco whimpered and thrust back minutely.

"There?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

The stall was filled with steam and the sound of their breathing. He'd only just begun to increase the speed of his fingers when Draco let out an actual moan that had Harry reeling.

"For fuck's sake, I'm ready."

Harry would have liked to think of himself as the kind of guy who could still think fairly clearly even when he was getting ready to fuck someone, but it just wasn't so. He would have liked to be the kind of guy who would have made quite sure Draco was ready. As it stood, however, Draco's words had him lathering his cock with soap and lining it up at Draco's entrance as quickly as he could manage.

"Just . . . tell me if it hurts, though," he managed to bite out. Draco nodded, and then he was pushing in. Draco groaned, though not in pain, and Harry had to close his eyes and dig his nails into Draco's hips to keep from feeling completely overwhelmed by the mixture of intense emotion and incredible pleasure coursing through his entire being.

It took several minutes to bury himself entirely inside of Draco, and he wasn't even completely conscious of himself the whole time. It was like his world had shrunk and consisted only of the places where he and Draco were touching, specifically his cock, which was literally being enveloped in incredible, tight, wet heat.

"Jesus fuck," he rasped when his balls touched Draco's arse. Draco made a noise which could have been a breathless laugh or a whimper. Harry couldn't honestly tell. He only knew that he needed to move _now_ or he might explode. "Okay?"

"Potter," Draco said lightly. He turned his head so their eyes met and then kissed Harry gently. When he pulled away Harry took the time to skim over Draco's face, finding himself astounded once again by his simple beauty. "I'm not a porcelain doll. I won't break."

And for some reason this statement made Harry feel like he might cry. He wrapped his arms around Draco and squeezed him tightly.

"I know," he said. Draco smiled and turned back around. Harry leaned forward so his lips touched Draco's ear. "But I don't want to take the chance."

Before Draco could respond Harry pulled out and pushed back in quickly, trying not to be rough, though he was sure he didn't fully succeed. Thankfully, Draco's groan told of only a small amount of pain, no doubt thanks to the numerous times he'd been fucked before, and soon Harry stopped worrying almost entirely. He allowed himself to stop thinking and just _be_. To enjoy Draco, his body, his presence, everything about him. The way he moaned when Harry would dig his fingers into his stomach, or how he would drag his nails down the wall when Harry would hit his prostate.

The best part, however, was the breathy, almost-too-soft-to-hear "Harry" that escaped Draco's mouth when Harry wrapped his hand around Draco's erection. This nearly sent Harry over the edge and he began stroking Draco in time with his own thrusts, which were rapidly becoming erratic. When Draco finally cried out his release and clamped down on Harry's cock, he squeezed Draco's waist so tightly that when he came down from his own post-orgasm high the muscles in his arm were cramped and sore.

He was gentle when he pulled out and when he spun Draco around, as well as when he kissed him, though that took more effort.

He felt Draco smile against his lips and found himself laughing.

"You fuck like you do everything else," Draco said eventually. "And exactly like I expected you to." Harry kissed his cheek and wiped a few drops of water off his eyebrow with his thumb, though it made no difference, as the water continued to pour over them.

"How's that?"

"You put everything you have into it, like it's the last thing you'll ever do."

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes, though his heart swelled.

"Becomes a habit when you're used to thinking everything very well could be the last thing you do." Draco didn't laugh, only looked contemplative. "Is that a bad thing?"

His heart had begun to speed up uncomfortably by the time Draco finally answered him.

"No."

And then he kissed Harry, pouring so much raw feeling into it that Harry himself felt drained when it was over.

"Good job in the game today, by the way," he said as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his torso, not just waist, and spelled his clothes dry. Harry watched from the stall as he donned the clothes.

"Yeah," he said when Draco stood up from putting his shoes on. "But I only won because I didn't have to play against you."

The smile Draco graced him with before leaving the changing rooms made Harry think the sun itself could never hope to make him feel so warm.


	18. Chapter 18

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Eighteen**  
><strong>_

March was not kind to the residents of Hogwarts.

Draco slipped Harry's jumper over his head and wrapped his arms around himself. He was looking forward to seeing him in a few minutes. Recently he'd learned that Harry Potter was not only very adept at saving people and having amazing sex, but he was also incredibly warm and cuddly.

Pansy was sitting on a couch in the Slytherin common room when Draco left his dorm. She was talking to Blaise animatedly, waving her right arm as though casting a spell. Draco walked over and determinedly did not look at Blaise. They hadn't spoken in several weeks, and he was _not_ going to be the one to give in.

"Oh, Draco!" Pansy sprung up from the couch, smiling delightedly when she noticed him. "I'll be back in a moment, Blaise." She dragged Draco by the arm over to a secluded corner of the room. Draco felt Blaise glaring. "Are you going now?"

"Yeah. He said he'd be outside the common room at eleven."

"With that annoying Cloak of his?" Draco nodded. "This is so scandalous," she laughed. "Where are you two going?"

"I don't know." That was a lie. "Hopefully somewhere warm."

Pansy nodded absently and looked down at his jumper. And then, very suddenly, her eyes narrowed.

"That's that jumper you were wearing the other night. The one I didn't recognize." Draco felt himself blush. He nodded. "Where did you say you got it again?"

"I've had it," he said. "I told you, I use it as pajama —"

"That's Potter's, isn't it?" she whispered excitedly.

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous!"

But he could see Pansy wasn't to be swayed. Bloody great time for her to suddenly become observant, he thought sourly.

"Oh, quit fibbing. I can't believe he gave you his jumper! How adorable!"

"_Pansy_," Draco drawled, and he hoped she didn't notice the permanent blush on his cheeks, "it is not _adorable_—"

"Why did he give it to you?" she asked, apparently unaware that he'd said anything. "Just because you were cold? But it was a while ago. And why haven't you worn it since then? Or . . ." She stopped, looking simultaneously suspicious and like she knew something.

"What . . . ?"

Suddenly her eyes went wide and she gasped.

"Draco!"

"What?"

"Draco!" Pansy looked thrilled. "Did you . . . Draco, did you two . . . ?"

And now Draco's eyes flew open, mortified. How had she known? Was it written on his forehead?

_I HAD SEX WITH HARRY POTTER THIS AFTERNOON!_

"You did!" she practically shrieked. Draco instinctively looked around the common room to make sure no one was listening and instantly regretted it. This seemed to solidify Pansy's suspicions. "Oh my God, when? After the game? Draco, tell me everything!"

"Will you shut up?" he hissed. Pansy went on smiling like a lunatic. "Just . . . I'll tell you later, just stop cawing in the middle of the common room!"

Pansy was positively beaming.

"And stop smiling like that, people are looking!"

"Oh, Draco, I'm just so happy!" He saw her arms twitch as though she was going to hug him, but she stopped herself. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, go, go, don't keep him waiting!"

She proceeded to shove him toward the door, stopping only to tell him she'd spell his hair red if he didn't give her details later. He glared at her before stepping into the corridor.

He went from one ambush to another. Not a moment after the common room door had swung shut did Potter grab Draco's wrist and pull him into a kiss. Only after they'd parted, however, did he have the presence of mind to wonder where the Cloak was.

"It's in my pocket," Potter explained, grinning like a boy who was very excited to do something very wrong. "I was hiding behind the door just now."

"That's _weird_, Potter," Draco did not mind telling him. Potter went on smiling.

"Where did you want to go tonight?"

Draco realized he'd momentarily forgotten his plan, due mostly to Potter's surprise attack, and now that he remembered he grinned. Potter saw this and laughed.

"Close your eyes."

Potter's smile faltered. "What?"

"Close your eyes! I wanna show you something." When Potter continued to look suspicious, Draco sighed heavily. "I'm not going to attack you, will you just close your bloody eyes!"

"Tell me where we're going first."

"Potter," Draco deadpanned. "That would defeat the purpose entirely. Do you really not trust me?"

Despite his cool exterior, the thought frightened Draco. He'd put so much trust into Potter. Did Potter not trust _him_? Was this a one-sided . . . whatever it was?

"I do," Potter said suddenly. He looked slightly abashed. "I just have . . . some trust issues."

Draco sighed. "Yes, and rightly so, I suppose." He put a smile back on and grabbed the Cloak out of Potter's pocket inside his robe. When his hand brushed Potter's stomach he had to consciously stop his hand from shaking too much. "We'll both get under this. You close your eyes and I'll lead."

Draco draped the Cloak over both of them and positioned himself in front of Potter, who wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and buried his face in his neck. Draco gasped softly.  
>"Stop it," he said, trying to sound commanding. Potter's chuckle told him he'd failed. "Potter, I'm serious. Can't you at least . . . wait until we get there?" He felt one last kiss on his neck before the warmth of Potter's breath disappeared.<p>

"Lead the way."

Draco led Potter down several unnecessary corridors just so that he wouldn't guess where they were going. After all, Potter had explored the castle many times, he knew, and he seemed to know it like the back of his hand. Draco was satisfied when he heard Potter's grunt of annoyance when they descended the staircase that led to the entrance hall.

"Something wrong?" he teased.

"Yeah. I have no idea where we are."

Draco chuckled and whispered, "Keep your eyes closed when I take the Cloak off."

He stuffed the slippery material back inside Potter's robes and led him to the door of the Great Hall, opening it as silently as he could manage because he knew Potter would figure it out instantly if he could hear it.

The Great Hall was different at night. The House tables were gone, as was the Head Table, and there were no candles to create a glare and hinder the sight of the ceiling, which looked like anything but. One could see the stars perfectly. If the Great Hall appeared to have no ceiling during the day, it was nothing compared to the middle of the night.

Draco helped Potter onto the ground, where he curled up next to him, pulling one of his strong arms over his waist and tucking his head beneath Potter's chin. Potter held him tightly and did not once open his eyes.

"You can open them now."

Potter did, and when he caught sight of the sky above them, he gasped. Then he looked around, surely searching for snow, and it seemed to take him a second to understand. When he did, his eyes went wide.

"I never thought of this," he whispered. "I mean, we all had to sleep in here third year, but I never . . ."

Draco smiled triumphantly and tugged on Harry's collar to pull him back down, as he'd lifted himself onto an elbow in order to see around himself better. When Harry lay back down, he kissed Draco's nose and hugged him tightly.

"Me and Blaise used to do this sometimes," Draco said. "When we were younger. We both hate the cold, but it's fun to look at the stars. I always used to like finding my constellation."

"Your constellation?" Potter's eyebrows threaded together. Draco laughed.

"That's why my name's Draco. It's a constellation. Merlin, Potter, didn't you take Astronomy?"

"I didn't pay attention!"

"Look." He pointed at the ceiling-sky above them, able to quickly locate his constellation now after years of finding it almost every night. "The stars aren't terribly bright, so it's hard to find. Start with that one right there, see it? It's sort of bright." Potter shifted a bit, eyes squinted, trying to determine which of the millions of stars Draco was pointing to. "It's near one that's smaller, but also fairly bright. See them?"

After a few more moments Harry smiled. "Oh! Yeah, I see them!"

"They make a kind of trapezoid with two other stars. That's the head. And then the star that marks the bottom left point starts the body." He traced the long line that the stars made which formed the body of the constellation. "It goes straight down, then it goes up into an arch, and then back down. The stars are just a little brighter than the ones around them."

They were silent for several minutes while Potter tried to work it out. Draco saw him go back to the original two stars many times and start over. Draco knew when he'd figured it out because he smiled.

"I see it. What is it supposed to be?"

"A dragon."

Potter turned to look at him, an amused smile playing on his handsome face, and then he kissed Draco soundly.

"It's a beautiful thing to be named after."

"Thank you. Can I show you one more?"

He told Potter to find the brightest star in the sky. It took a few minutes, but eventually he pointed at the right one.

"It creates a dog with the stars around it," he told him. "The constellation is called Canis Major. Do you know what the star is called?"

"What?"

Draco smiled sadly at him. "It's called Sirius. It's the brightest star in the sky. If it were the size of the sun it would be brighter."

Potter stopped smiling instantly and looked back up at the sky. He stared at the bright star for many minutes. It took Draco by surprise when he said, "Do you believe in fate?"

Draco looked up at the sky as well, thinking about the question, half wondering what might have caused Potter to ask.

Of course, he had a good idea. But that didn't mean it would be easy to answer. Especially because he didn't think Potter would like what he had to say. The fact that he didn't want to lie to him made him wonder what this stupid Gryffindor had done to him.

"Are you asking me," he said quietly, "if I think Sirius Black, and your parents, and everyone who died in the war died for a greater reason?"

Potter was still looking up at the sky. Draco saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "Do you think that's how it works?"

Draco sighed and laid his head down on Potter's arm. When he spoke, he was staring at Potter's chest. His scent washed over him.

"No, I don't," he said truthfully. When Potter gave no sign of either agreeing or disagreeing he continued. "I think people who say that are trying to mollify themselves. For me, I . . . I would love to say my parents died for a reason. That someone somewhere had already planned it, and that it was bound to happen no matter what. That maybe something good came out of it, or will come out of it. But I . . ." Draco stopped to gather his thoughts. Absently, he began running his fingers through the hair on Potter's arm that was draped over his waist. "That just seems really far-fetched. It feels too much like something people would say to make it hurt less when they lose someone they love."

"What do you mean?" Potter's voice was quiet and rough.

"I mean . . . Pretend for a moment that fate _is_ real. Unquestionably. And imagine that your parents, and Sirius, and everyone you loved that has ever died, died for a reason. That it was meant to happen and something better came out of it. That sounds wonderful as opposed to believing it didn't _have_to happen. Knowing that it could have been stopped. That it was arbitrary. If you could, wouldn't you like to believe there was a reason for it?"

"Yeah. . . ."

"Exactly." Draco ran his hand through Potter's hair, up the back of his head, forcing their eyes to meet. "Everyone would. So they do." Potter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I hope you don't think badly of me for not believing in it."

"I don't," he said, and his eyes shot open. "I don't know what I believe myself. The other day . . . The other day, with Anthony, he asked me if I believed in fate. He said that he thinks everything does happen for a reason. That it makes sense, because it's more organized. And then we're not just hovering in space for no reason."

"Harry," Draco said, and once more he forced Potter to look at him. "Even if there is no God, no higher power, and no greater reason for, I don't know, _human existence_, that hardly means we're hovering in space with no reason. The world isn't black and white. It doesn't have to be between our lives being entirely planned out or being meaningless.

"Personally, I don't think there's any higher power watching over us. But I've never considered my life to have no purpose."

"That's because you're arrogant," Harry teased, though there wasn't much life behind it. Draco smiled softly.

"Do you know what I think?" he said quietly. He was glad it was dark because he knew he was blushing. "I think our existence on Earth was a complete chance, and even though there's no cosmic reason for us to be here, I still think we should treat life like it's something really special. I mean, in a way, the fact that there _is_ no reason makes it a little more special, doesn't it? Something went right, and here we are. We got lucky. I don't know, I feel like, even though fate would make the bad things hurt less, it would also make the good things less incredible." He leaned in and kissed Harry's neck gently. "It makes this special. It's not like it was going to happen either way. Our random existences intertwined." Draco pulled away and smiled excitedly at Harry, who was grinning as well. "It's kind of poetic. Maybe alone people don't necessarily have a reason to be here, but other people give them a reason, and vice versa. During the war, my family was a reason to stay alive. I loved my parents and they loved me. That's so much better than having everything planned out for you. Doing it for someone else."

After that long, rather philosophical account, the only thing Harry said in response was:  
>"Do you know why Voldemort couldn't kill me?"<p>

For a moment, Draco could only stare. Finally he stuttered, "W-why?"

"My mum's love protected me." Harry pulled Draco tight against him and leaned down to kiss his neck. "I think you're right," he whispered. "I think love is a pretty fucking good reason."

Draco allowed himself to be held and kissed. He stared across the Great Hall at the banners that shone in the moonlight streaming through the windows. The mane of the lion could almost be mistaken for Harry's mess of hair. Next to it, the Ravenclaw eagle had its head turned toward the lion. At the other end, after Hufflepuff, Slytherin's snake looked toward Gryffindor as well, but Draco got the feeling the lion only had eyes for the eagle.

Suddenly, Draco felt a hand crawl toward the waistline of his trousers and then creep inside.

"Potter . . ."

In the span of a second, Harry was on top of him, knees on either side of Draco's hips. He leaned over and kissed him.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I wish we could just fall asleep."

Draco blushed fiercely and turned away, only to be met once again with the sight of the House banners. He stared for a moment until he felt a breath on his ear.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry whispered.

"Do you think Gryffindor and Slytherin were placed deliberately?" He looked up at Harry, whose eyebrows had threaded.

"What?"

Draco nodded in the direction of the banners and Harry looked. His face fell into a soft frown when he realized what Draco had meant.

"Probably."

"I don't think the lion can see the snake. The eagle's in the way."

The look Harry gave Draco was something between guilt and pity. Harry bent down and ran his nose along the line of Draco's jaw, stopping when he reached the soft skin behind his ear and kissing it.

"Anthony isn't keeping me from helping you."

Draco thought Harry had evaded the real meaning of the metaphor quite well, but it didn't make it hurt any less. In fact, it hurt a bit more, knowing that Harry _knew_ what he'd meant, and had deliberately avoided answering. Draco wondered whether Harry knew how deep his feelings had become. He'd never been all that observant, as far as Draco knew. But the way he'd so smoothly sidestepped the real issue just now said something entirely different.

Harry had begun kissing down the side of Draco's neck, and while it certainly felt incredible and was undeniably arousing, it made him uncomfortable.

"Is this still all right with you?" he asked timidly. Harry pulled his face away and looked down at Draco.

"What? _This_?"

"Yes. I just . . . you have a boyfriend—"

"I told you before it didn't matter, Draco."

Draco flushed. "Would you please stop using my name?"

Harry sighed loudly and rolled off of Draco, onto his back. Draco curled up on his side and looked at him. Harry stared at the ceiling for a few moments before returning the gesture.

"I don't understand why you hate that so much."

"It just feels too intimate."

Harry's eyebrows rose beneath his messy hairline.

"And what we did earlier today wasn't intimate?"

"It's different, all right?" Draco sat up and wrapped his arms around himself.

"I've never met someone as hard to understand as you," said Harry. "You're almost as bad as a girl." Draco bristled. Before he could say anything, though, Harry must have realized what he'd implied, because he sat up as well and cupped Draco's cheek. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I'm sorry."

Draco looked away and remained silent. He was unprepared to have Harry grab his arm and pull him to the ground on top of him. "You know, I kind of like that you're a little feminine," Harry said, and it was a bit husky. Draco felt his cock twitch.

"Anthony's not feminine."

"For fuck's sake," Harry growled, "will you stop bringing up Anthony? He has nothing to do with this."

Well, he was certainly a typical boy, then, if he didn't realize what his _boyfriend_ had to do with this.

"Father always said it made me look weak."

Draco couldn't tell whether he was getting scared or turned on by the fury on Harry's face. Probably a bit of both, he reasoned.

"Your father said a lot of things."

"My father —!"

"Draco, stop," Harry said, and covered Draco's mouth with his hand. The anger was gone from his face. "We haven't fought in weeks now. I know it's probably inevitable with us, but let's make it last a bit longer, yeah? Besides, I really want to kiss you."

Draco laughed in spite of himself. "If I ever get my hands on a time-turner I'm going to go back to sixth year and tell you that in two years you're going to say that to me."

"I'd probably hex your face off, and then find your sixth year-self and hex _his_ face off."

"No need for that. You'd be slicing him open before the end of the year."

Harry's smile dropped entirely. Draco had meant that as a joke—he didn't hold the Sectumsempra incident against Harry. At least, not much. He didn't have any scarring, so really, it wasn't a big deal. Besides, he'd been about to Crucio him, so he supposed it was only fair.  
>Harry, however, apparently had different thoughts on the subject.<p>

He pushed Draco off and sat up.

"Potter, I was kidding," Draco said softly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No need to be such a martyr."

Harry shot Draco a scathing look. "I nearly killed you, Draco."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I almost tortured you."

"It doesn't."

Draco sighed loudly and pushed a hand through Harry's hair, fluffing his fringe, and then leaned forward to kiss him.

"Let's not play who-hurt-whom-more."

Harry nuzzled his ear and whispered, "What do you propose we do instead?"

Draco swallowed, feeling his cock already beginning to swell with blood, and reached down none-too-subtly to squeeze Harry's hard length. It still served to make him breathless, knowing that he was touching Harry Potter's goddamn erection; one that _he_ was the cause for.

Harry wasted no time in laying Draco on his back and covering him with his own body. Draco closed his eyes and released a breath, allowing himself for the moment to bask in the enormity of how right he felt beneath Harry. Any conclusions that could be drawn from this fact were temporarily ignored as Harry began to mouth his neck.

"It's so typical of you, Potter," Draco said breathlessly, gasping when a particularly harsh bite was administered to his pulse point, "to get off on being in charge."

Harry laughed and kissed Draco's ear.

"What about you? What kinds of kinks does Draco Malfoy have?"

And one immediately came to mind. It was hopelessly archetypal in this situation, especially after he'd just accused Potter of liking to be in control. Draco stalled, not sure he felt comfortable admitting to Harry this very telling kink of his. Draco knew what lengths it spoke about him as a person, knew how it screamed that he liked to be taken care of. And wasn't that precisely what he'd been fighting for years now? Dependency?

But then . . . wasn't that what Harry had gradually been pulling him back to?

"You're thinking about it," Harry whispered. "Tell me."

When Harry dragged his cock along the outline of Draco's he gasped and gave in, because how good would it be to have _Harry_call him . . .

"Baby," he whispered, cheeks flaming. Harry pulled back to look at him with an expression that said _did you say what I think you just said?_"I like it when . . . when someone calls me baby."

Harry grinned predatorily and renewed his nuzzling of Draco's neck with all the more fervor.  
>"Does that mean you get off on being dominated?" Harry's voice was teasing but loving. It made Draco feel hot all over. His breathing was ragged as Harry dragged his trousers down his legs and threw them to the side, leaving him in his pants and Harry's own jumper. "You act like such a prick in school. No one would ever guess you'd like having Harry Potter call you baby."<p>

"Potter . . ."

Harry grabbed his cock and squeezed, making Draco's eyes feel like they were bulging out of his head.

"What is it, baby?"

Draco could have screamed and melted and caught on fire and exploded all at the same time. Even if he'd spent years imagining it, he didn't think he could have ever prepared himself for how delicious it sounded having _Potter_ say those words.

Indeed, he didn't think anything could have prepared him for how perfect he would feel beneath Harry Potter; having Harry holding him and touching him and focusing solely on _him_.  
>Nothing mattered. It was only the two of them and the stars and it was perfect.<p>

"Touch me," he said. "Please."

And what a statement _that _was: Draco Malfoy begging Harry Potter for something. He was sure Harry noticed because his eyes lit up.

"You have to do something for me, though," he whispered. Draco tried arching up into him but Harry made sure to stay separated by at least a few millimeters. "Call me Harry. I want to hear you say my name, baby."

Draco released a high-pitched whine and wrapped his arms and legs around Harry, pulling him closer. At this point, he would have done anything.

"Touch me, Harry."

Harry grunted, an animalistic "fuck" that had Draco biting his lip harshly, and within seconds his hand was wrapped around Draco's cock.

Harry looked intent as he watched Draco's face screw up with pleasure. Draco thought vaguely that he continued to look as fascinated now as he'd had the first time.

"Wait," Draco breathed. He reached down and tried to still Harry's hand. "Harry, wait."

Harry shot him a bewildered look but Draco ignored it. He unzipped Harry's trousers with shaking hands and pulled his dick out rather tentatively. Harry felt his legs becoming unsteady and dropped forward so his hands were on either side of Draco's head. He was glad he did this a moment later, because Draco arched up and wrapped his hand around both of their erections.

Draco moved his hand slowly, whether intentionally or because he was nervous he couldn't tell for himself. Either way, it seemed to become unbearable for Harry after a few minutes, and with a low growl he reached down and covered Draco's hand and forced him to go faster.

"Are you gonna come for me, baby?" Harry whispered, sounding as though he'd just barely managed to keep a tremor out of his voice. Draco whined and arched up again. "Come on, Draco. Come for me."

With his free hand Draco pulled Harry down into a kiss, muffling his own shout of release. Their mouths stayed glued throughout the duration of his orgasm, and when he finally broke away from Harry he fell to the ground with a contented sigh. Harry buried his face in Draco's sweaty neck and pumped himself until he, too, reached his climax and spilled all over Draco's stomach.  
>When he'd apparently come to his senses Harry spelled them clean and cuddled Draco against his chest; just as though they were lovers, as though they'd done this a thousand times and it was completely normal.<p>

"Your skin glows in the moonlight," he said suddenly. Draco felt his breath on his hair. It gave him goose bumps.

* * *

><p>Hermione chewed her lip nervously, watching as Ron paced the floor in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room.<p>

"Will you sit down?" she pleaded. He shot her a glare.

"How can you be so calm about this? He's probably with Malfoy, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "I know that, Ron. I'm sure he is. But that's no reason to get yourself worked up. Is that the only reason you wanted to talk? To tell me that?"

"No!" he practically shouted. She shushed him, gesturing angrily toward the stairs that led to the dorms where younger students were sleeping. "How long is this gonna go on?"

"I don't know." Hermione nervously patted down her nightgown. "I don't know what's going on with the two of them, so I can't very well say how long Harry is going to keep this up."

Ron's face lost a bit of color. "You don't think they're . . . ? He said . . ."

She shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I would like to say Harry would never do that, especially to someone as kind as Anthony, but I just don't know anymore, Ron. He's been very shady lately. I've spoken to Anthony a few times about him and he says that he's been more withdrawn and a little on edge."

"Does Anthony suspect anything?"

"Course he does. In fact, I think he's certain something _is_ going on. But I think he's also clinging to the hope that he's wrong."

Ron finally huffed and slumped down in a chair, looking down-trodden and miserable.

Hermione's heart clenched. "Regardless of what's happening, Harry will come around eventually. We need to let him work things out on his own, though. You _know_ how he is, Ron. Harry's stubborn and hot-headed and hates telling us anything. But he loves us. He's proven that countless times, and you know it. He'll come back, and I'll be willing to listen and talk to him, and I know you will, too. I just hope he doesn't mess things up too badly before he decides to do that."

"I hate this," Ron grumbled. Hermione smiled and went to sit on the edge of his chair, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, but I think letting him realize he needs us is the best thing to do. It's how he works. He'll just get angry if we try to talk to him. And anyway, even if we did, he'd still be keeping his meetings with Malfoy a secret and it would only get on our nerves."

"When you're right you're right," Ron sighed.

Hermione laughed. "Let's get to bed. I have an Ancient Runes exam tomorrow."

Ron took her hand and stood up. She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek before he headed upstairs back to his Harry-less dorm. Hermione glanced over at the portrait one more time, hoping vainly that Harry would walk through. He didn't, though, and she returned to her own dorm with a heavy heart indeed.


	19. Chapter 19

_My sincerest apologies. In my defense, I have been utterly computer-less for way too long. I'm managing this update, but I'm getting a new computer within the next week and THEN the regular updates will return. :) For now, enjoy this, and remember that it is only another week!_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Nineteen**  
><strong>_

When Harry left the Gryffindor common room Monday night to see Pansy, he was especially frazzled. It felt like forever since he'd spoken to either Ron or Hermione, and just now, when he'd been in his dorm preparing to leave, Ron had walked in and completely ignored him. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it _was_ one of the few, as Seamus, Dean, or Neville was generally in there with them. When Ron had gone about getting his chess set and then gone back downstairs as if nothing had happened, Harry had had to close his eyes and take deep breaths to keep from destroying the room with his bare hands.

He was rather looking forward to seeing Pansy, though, and as he neared the library he found that his shoulders relaxed of their own accord. Draco wouldn't be there — Pansy had made sure of that, at Harry's request.

She wasn't anywhere to be seen when Harry first walked into the cavernous room, so he took it upon himself to choose a table in a more secluded area near the Divination section. He pulled out his Defense book, prepared to have to wait a while if Pansy was late, but he hadn't even opened to the right page when she sat down across from him.

"Hi," she said a little breathlessly as she shoved her bag beneath the table. "Sorry I'm late. Draco wouldn't leave me alone!"

Harry smiled. "What did you tell him?"

"Oh, just that I was coming here to study Transfiguration. I'm no good at it, and he wanted to help, but I said I thought I should try doing it on my own." She scoffed. "I'm actually a little offended that he bought it. As if I would ever want to do such a thing."

Harry laughed, an honest-to-God, mirthful laugh, and when it died away he was still smiling.

"And what's Draco doing? Sulking?"

She smirked. "Either that or he's shut himself away in his dorm and is drawing."

"Wait . . . what?" Harry leaned forward in his chair, eyebrows drawn, and cocked his head. "Drawing?"

"Don't tell him I said anything," Pansy whispered. Her cheeks held a bit of color. "He hates that even _I_ know. If I hadn't found his drawings by accident I still wouldn't, in fact. I don't know _why_ he hides it, though. He's brilliant."

Harry felt dazed. Malfoy drew . . . and was good at it? Even brilliant, if what Pansy said was true. He was intrigued.

"What kind of stuff does he draw?"

She shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "Not really . . . not, like, normal stuff. It's all a bit dark. Beautiful, but very scary, some of it. And he uses animals a lot. One of the first ones I found was so strange . . . I don't think I'll ever forget it. It was one of those Muggle Ferris wheels, you know?" Harry nodded slowly. "It didn't have a platform or anything, just the wheel itself, and there was a big zebra sitting at the top, its knees pulled up like it didn't fit in the cart, like it was human. And it looked depressed, and it was holding another animal's head out over the side. The rest of the body was in the cart below. Like the zebra had grabbed its head as it was going by and didn't let go."

Harry swallowed and felt goose bumps raise all over his body.

"That's . . . odd," he said weakly. Pansy nodded.

"It was beautifully done, all in black and white, but I think that's why it was so frightening. Because it was so good. I've only seen a handful of others, all dark, but they didn't stick with me like that one."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, Pansy probably remembering the picture while Harry tried to imagine what that could have looked like. Trying to image Draco drawing that.

Finally, Pansy broke the silence. "Anyway, why did you want to see me?"

Harry blinked rapidly, almost as though this would erase the image from his head, and looked at her.

"No reason in particular. Talk about Draco, I suppose. Other than that, I guess I'm just getting sick of Neville and Anthony."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Getting sick of your boyfriend?" Harry blushed. "That's not very noble, is it?"

Harry crossed his arms petulantly. "I'm not quite as noble as everyone likes to pretend."

Pansy laughed. "Of course you are. You're the only one who gave Draco a chance and decided to help."

"Yeah, because _I_ was curious."

She eyed him for a moment suspiciously. "And is that all it is still? Curiosity?"

Harry colored and looked down. He began fiddling with a loose thread on the binding of his Defense book.

"I . . . no, of course not." He was startled when Pansy reached across the table and laid her hand over his.

"You both act like it's some horrible crime to have feelings for one another. I mean, I know you have a boyfriend, so that complicates things a bit, but that's not the only reason you're so weird about it, is it?" Harry shook his head, finding that there would be no point in lying about it.

"It's just strange, is all," he said quietly. Pansy nodded and took her hand back. "I never in a million years would have guessed this would happen. _Could_ happen, for that matter."

"You know," she laughed, "it's funny, because _I_ think it's pretty predictable."

Harry stared at her. "What?"

"Harry, I used to be jealous of you."

"Sorry?"

"Sure. Back before Draco had ever come out to me, before I realized he wasn't suitable to be my boyfriend — for many reasons — I was always a little envious of you because you took up so much of his time and attention."

Harry leaned back in his chair with a huff, thinking over the information he'd just been given. He supposed it was true, and not only for Draco. They _had_ always been a bit obsessed with each other. And he wasn't even going to get _started_ on sixth year. . .

"Harry?"

Harry and Pansy whipped around to find Draco walking toward them cautiously, his eyebrows drawn, looking extremely confused.

"Draco!" Pansy shouted, fumbling with her Transfiguration book to get it open. "Harry was just . . . he was helping me study!"

Draco stopped at the edge of the table and looked at the two of them like they'd grown extra heads.

"Have I missed something?" he said eventually. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing, while Pansy sat there looked immensely exasperated.

"I sat down with her," Harry explained. Pansy eyed him. "She was studying and I decided to come talk to her — may as well, right? She's your friend."

"Oh."

Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes, finally having gotten over the initial shock of Draco walking in on them.

"Why did you come down here? Did you need something?"

Draco was silent for a few moments, looking back and forth between Pansy and Harry, and then said, "I just wanted to talk to you. I had a question."

"What's up?"

He looked to Harry nervously, which caused Harry to feel very suspicious indeed, and then back to Pansy. He swallowed.

"Do you mind going back to our dorm . . . ?"

"Aw, come on," Harry teased, tugging Draco down into a seat by his sleeve. Draco blushed furiously. "Secrets are no fun."

"It's not a secret," Draco grumbled.

Harry laughed. "Then why can't I be here?"

"Harry, please? I need to talk to Pansy."

Harry sighed and nearly leaned in to kiss Draco, thought better of it, and instead squeezed his hand under the table. Draco smiled and squeezed back before standing up and beckoning for Pansy to do the same. She gathered up her books in her bag and sent a discreet, apologetic glance Harry's way.

"See you," she said.

"Well, I'll walk out with you," he said, standing up himself. "I couldn't find the book I was looking for."

The three of them left the library together, but before they parted ways Pansy said, "Oh, Potter! You're good at Defense, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm alright."

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. "Me and Draco are studying tomorrow evening, would you mind helping me out? I'm having trouble with the Fiendfyre essay."

Harry looked quickly at Draco, who caught his eye and then looked away again.

"Sure," he said, putting on a smile. "I'll meet you in the library after dinner."

Pansy sat down on Blaise's bed, as he was out in the common room, while Draco shut the door and went to his own. They sat in silence for several minutes while Draco worked up his nerve and tried to determine how he would say what he needed to say. His stomach was aching with anxiety.

"Pansy," he said quietly. "Have you ever been in love with someone?"

Pansy looked a bit taken aback. "No, I haven't." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"I used to think," he began, but his voice was hoarse, and trying to clear it didn't help. "I used to think that being in love would be like having another extremity. I thought it would feel like finding someone who you couldn't imagine living without." The expression on Pansy's face was what he thought it might look like after watching someone contort their body: a strange mixture of incredible confusion and shock.

"I don't think I ever _really_ believed that, though," he went on. "Or at least, I never associated it with myself. Like a part of me never thought I would ever actually fall in love."

"What are you trying to say?" Pansy asked, and Draco couldn't tell how she felt about the answer she knew she was going to receive. And she _did_ know. She may have been thick, but she wasn't stupid. He almost wished she would have accused him of it, because he wasn't sure he could say it out loud.

"It's even worse than having another extremity." Pansy's eyes became very round, but he didn't know if it was because of what he'd actually said, or just because he'd admitted to it. "If I had to have my arm removed, I could still live. It would be difficult, and I would hate it, but I could technically do it." A giant bubble of emotion made his throat feel tight and he had to will himself not to tear up. "Pansy, I'm not sure I could live if he wasn't there."

Draco was startled to see a tear trail down Pansy's cheek. She looked terrified.

"Draco, this isn't a time for exaggeration," she said softly, and her voice shook. "You feel like that because you've just had sex with him for the first time the other day. You're in the honeymoon phase. You're not . . ." but she cut herself off because he was shaking his head.

"It's not like that." He became aware suddenly that he was digging his nails into his arms and let go. "It's that horrifying feeling that followed me around every day of our sixth year. When all I could think about was my mission from the Dark Lord, because my life depended on it. It was my _whole life_." Draco stared directly into Pansy's eyes in an attempt to convey to her the seriousness of what he was saying. He needed her to understand, because it was scaring him. He couldn't handle it alone. He knew that as surely as he knew he could never have killed Dumbledore. "I love him so much, Pansy. And I'm so scared, because I iknow/i I won't be able to handle him leaving. And he's with Goldstein, and what if, when we graduate, he stops caring?"

It was unfair, putting this on Pansy. She was, after all, only a girl of nineteen, and a bit of a clueless one, at that. How was she supposed to know what to do in this situation? What was she supposed to say to him? This wasn't a typical, angsty teenage relationship issue. Draco knew what he sounded like—knew how pathetic it was. And if the fear in his heart and in his very _core_ was coming through at all in his words, he could only imagine how frightened Pansy must be. Because Draco truly felt as though he would drop dead the moment Harry stopped being interested.

Pansy sat down next to him on the bed and pulled him into a hug.

"He loves you, Draco," she whispered. "I know he does. He's not just going to lose interesting. And . . . and even if he _did_, you wouldn't die. You're stronger than that, you don't need someone else to be happy."

Draco knew she was wrong, but he didn't argue. There was no point. Even if she believed him, she would never admit it. That was a terrifying thing to admit. No, he was better off nodding and agreeing with her, and just praying Harry wouldn't leave him.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hello! After a billion years I'm updating. :) I've transferred files from my old, broken, useless, retarded computer to my new one, so I can at least catch up on FFN to where the story is on LJ. The story is almost done; I've got a few more chapters to write. So not to worry! It **will** see the end in the near future._

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Twenty_

After Charms on Thursday Harry pulled Draco aside and told Pansy to go on without them. She raised a brow at him but didn't ask questions, for which Harry was thankful. He saw Ron glare and Hermione tug on his arm, pulling him away and down the corridor.

"There's something I want to show you," he told Draco. Butterflies whirled around anxiously in his stomach. He was so excited to do this he thought he might accidentally scream if they didn't hurry up.

"What is it?"

"Just come with me. It's a surprise. But —" he said, grabbing Draco's arm and stopping him when he began walking "— I want you to promise me something."

Draco looked at him suspiciously.

"What . . . ?"

"Promise me that, afterwards, you'll let me ask you a serious question and that you'll answer honestly."

Draco bit his lip almost imperceptibly. "What's the question?"

"Later. I want to show you this first. I just want you to swear to me that you'll be honest."

"Harry, I can't . . . That's asking a lot. I can't promise you that without knowing the question."

Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked at Draco seriously.

"The truth is a lot to ask for?"

Draco sighed and rubbed one eye tiredly. "Harry," he said, and it almost sounded like a plea. "I . . . No, but . . . You can't expect me to answer everything right away. Just because we . . ." He trailed off, his cheeks positively flaming. Harry had to hold back a small smirk. "I won't lie to you," he said finally. "But I can't promise you I'll tell you the whole truth. Not until I know the nature of the question."

Harry considered him for a moment before coming to a decision. "Fine," he said. "I can live with that. If you won't answer my question, just promise me you won't lie."

"Deal," Draco said, though it looked painful for him to say. For perhaps the fourth or fifth time in the last two days alone Harry nearly kissed Draco in public. He thought Draco noticed because he smirked and nodded down the corridor. "Let's go. What are you showing me?"

"Actually, we're going this way." Harry began walking in the direction of the stairs and Draco frowned.

"What, is it in Gryffindor Tower?" he joked. "Because I don't think I'm allowed in there."

Harry shoved him lightly in the shoulder and Draco glared at him.

"No, it's not in Gryffindor Tower. It's close enough, though."

He led Draco up to the seventh floor and they stopped before the gargoyle that led up to the Headmistress's office. Draco swallowed audibly. Harry was on the verge of bursting with excitement.

In the past few weeks he'd been able to talk to McGonagall about getting another portrait placed in the office, and just the other day she'd called him up to tell him, to his great surprise, that it had been worked out (due, no doubt, to much persuading on Dumbledore's portrait's part, and perhaps the fact that it had been Harry Potter's request didn't hurt). It was the only time Harry thought he'd ever use his name to get something done.

"Why are we going to see McGonagall?" Draco asked nervously.

"We're not." And that was all Harry said. He told the gargoyle the password and they stepped onto the moving staircase, arriving in front of the Headmistress's door moments later. Harry knocked.

"Come in," McGonagall called sharply. Harry opened the door and gestured for Draco to go first. He had to give him an encouraging nod before the boy would step inside.

"Hello, Professor," Harry said once he was inside as well. He was glad to note Draco had not yet noticed anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps due to the fact that he was staring resolutely at a spot on McGonagall's desk.

"Potter!" she nearly shouted. "I'd forgotten you were coming! And Mr. Malfoy, good afternoon." Draco merely nodded. "I'm afraid I have a meeting to which I need to attend in ten minutes, but I'm sure you can be trusted alone in here for a short while."

Harry smiled. "We won't be long," he assured her, though he knew no such thing. McGonagall looked at Draco and then back to Harry.

"Very well. I'll be off now, then. Help yourselves to some biscuits, if you'd like."

And not a minute later she was gone, shutting the door behind her. Harry wondered briefly if she really _had_ forgotten they were coming, and if there was a meeting to attend at all. She may have been a stern woman, but she had a heart, and Harry wouldn't have put it past her to give them time alone right now.

"What's going on?" Draco whispered. Harry bit his lip, trying to hold in his excitement. He looked up at Dumbledore's portrait, which nodded in approval, and then his eyes slid one over, coming to rest on a new portrait, one he'd not yet seen himself. Draco followed his eyes curiously and when they stopped on the portrait he froze.

The room was deathly silent for a good minute. Harry kept looking at Dumbledore, who was chuckling to himself, and then back to Draco, who hadn't moved.

"Draco?"

"Harry," he breathed. Professor Snape's portrait raised its eyebrows, as though bored at the situation. Harry just managed not to roll his eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled, and Harry saw Draco flinch, "do you mean to tell me that you, too, have joined the Potter fan club?"

Draco let out a wet chuckle and a tear slid down his cheek. Snape curled his lip in distaste, which, to Harry's horror, only made Draco smile further. He would never understand Slytherins.

"Professor," Draco whispered. He turned to Harry once more and Harry smiled at him. The next thing he knew he had an armful of Draco Malfoy and his neck was being squeezed so tightly he thought it likely he'd choke.

"I'll leave you alone for a while," Harry said with a smirk. Draco pulled away and gave him a watery smile.

"Thank you so much, Harry."

Harry wanted so badly to kiss him, but he wasn't sure how appropriate that would be considering their company. It wasn't just Dumbledore, whom he might have felt uneasy about, but he wasn't _about_ to kiss Draco in front of Snape. That was just too weird.

"I'll be right outside."

Harry looked up at Dumbledore and smiled conspiratorially before leaving the office.

Forty-five minutes later, he and Draco were halfway to the dungeons and Draco still hadn't said a word. Harry nudged his shoulder and gave him a half-smile.

"Everything went all right?"

Draco grinned. "Yes, of course. I don't mean to be so quiet, it was just a shock. I never expected to see Severus again, you know? I . . . I didn't know he was working for Dumbledore . . ."

"He was brave," Harry said, grabbing Draco's hand and squeezing. "There's probably a lot you don't know about him that would surprise you. It surprised me."

Draco raised his eyebrow at Harry. "What do _you_ know about Severus?"

"It's all a long story. A _very_ long story. If you'd like, I'll tell you later on. But right now," he said, stopping them in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room, "I want to ask you that question."

Draco paled. Apparently he'd forgotten.

"Don't look so nervous. It's not a very big deal." Harry leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, noting the way Draco shuffled a bit on the spot. "The other day Pansy told me something about you that intrigued me."

The expression that came over Draco's face resembled the way someone might look had they been told they were about to hear bad news.

"What would that be . . . ?"

"She told me you draw," he said bluntly. Draco's face froze into a neutral expression. "She said it was beautiful, if a tad dark. The reason I said I wanted you to be honest was because I thought you might try to deny it, but I can see that instead you're just not going to say anything at all."

"H-Harry, I —"

"I don't see why you'd be embarrassed. I wish _I_ could draw. It's an incredible talent."

Draco swallowed. "Why did she . . . what made her tell you that?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. I think she's very impressed by your skill and wanted to tell someone. Maybe she thought I'd find it interesting — which I did. Will you show me some of your stuff?"

Draco began shaking his head even before he spoke. "No, Harry, it's . . . you don't understand; I don't draw a lot. It's just a thing to pass time. I'm not good at all, she's exaggerating. I rarely do it," he repeated. Harry would have bet a lot of money he was lying.

"Well, can I see it anyway? Even if you don't do it very often, there have to be a _few_, don't there?" he said cheekily. Draco apparently did not find it amusing. He turned very red and looked away. Harry sighed and walked over, placing a hand over his cheek.

"They're really not very good," he whispered.

"I'll judge that for myself."

Draco looked up into Harry's eyes for a moment and then took a deep breath.

"Put the Cloak on."

Harry smiled triumphantly and did just that. He followed Draco into the common room and through to the dorms, glad that it was dinner and hardly anyone was present. Draco opened up his trunk and began rifling through clothes and loose papers and all kinds of stuff while Harry sat down on his bed, noting a small stuffed bear and containing a giant grin.

"Here," Draco said finally, pulling a large notepad out of the trunk and opening it to look through for himself. Harry saw him blush as he sat down next to Harry on the bed. He closed it and handed it over tentatively.

"I'm sure they're lovely," Harry whispered, leaning over to kiss Draco's cheek before opening it.

Draco _had_ been lying — half the notepad had to be filled, and that was a good fifty pages at the very least. Some were just scribbles and sketches, but some were full-blown drawings, all black and white, but the shading and detail were extraordinary.

Pansy had been right about him using animals a lot. It seemed to be _all_ he used in his drawings. There were no people. And somehow this was even more fascinating to Harry.

"These are . . . incredible, Draco," he said, flipping a page over and revealing the one Pansy had spoken of that had haunted her so much — the one of the zebra on the Ferris Wheel, holding the other animal's head over the edge of the cart. Harry felt goose bumps rise all over his body.

"That one's my favorite," Draco said, and when Harry looked over he saw him smiling. Draco pointed to the zebra and said, "I like that he's disproportionate to the Ferris Wheel. He's awkward, see? And the way he's sitting, like he's uncomfortable." Draco took his hand back and stared at the picture for a long moment. "I've always felt bad for him."

Harry looked at the picture for a bit longer as well before closing the book and laying it on Draco's trunk. He pushed Draco back onto his bed and pulled him into a hug. He felt Draco relax against him and he couldn't think of anything more satisfying.

"You're incredible," he said. And then, with a smile Draco couldn't see, he grabbed the bear and put it between them. Draco's cheeks went red.

"That's —"

"Bloody adorable," Harry finished for him. "_You're_ adorable."

* * *

><p>They'd missed their next classes that afternoon, which wasn't so horribly conspicuous since they didn't have them together anyway, and Harry had decided to spend the time telling Draco all about Snape and what he'd learned in the Pensieve that night nearly a year ago. He'd been especially intrigued to hear about Snape's feelings for Harry's mother (understandably so), and he'd become extremely quiet and still when Harry had described Snape's final moments. He'd tried not to use too much detail, but Draco had insisted, though he'd gone even paler than usual.<p>

Now, Harry found himself in the library the very same evening, studying Defense with Draco and Pansy, and having a great time. Pansy was indeed a bit thick, but she was funny and Harry didn't mind going over things multiple times with her, though it got a bit awkward when he had to explain Fiendfyre. Apparently Draco had never told her how, exactly, Crabbe had really died.

"Wait . . ." she said slowly. Draco rolled his eyes, though she didn't see it, and Harry bit back his laughter. "So, why can't you put it out with water?"

"It's _cursed_ fire, Pansy," Draco drawled. "It resists water, and any other spell that you can think of to put it out with, for that matter.

"It's really powerful," Harry explained. "It's one of the only things that'll destroy a Horcrux, actually."

Draco and Pansy both stared at him blankly.

"A what?" Draco asked.

Harry felt very foolish indeed, but was spared the task of coming up with an excuse to explain later by the arrival of none other than his boyfriend.

"Hi, Harry," Anthony said jovially, sliding into the seat beside him. Harry's whole body tensed up. Both Draco and Pansy looked uncertain of what they should do.

"Hey," Harry said, and he wrapped a tentative, awkward arm around Anthony's waist, simply because he didn't know what else to do and it was a bit of a habit by now anyway. Anthony seemed to approve because he scooted his chair closer.

"Are you studying?"

"What else would we be doing?" Draco snapped, though Harry noticed his blush a moment later, as though it had slipped out. He thought it might have.

Anthony gave Draco an entirely indiscernible look, but it gave Harry chills anyway. It was not friendly, and that was all he needed to know to be sure he didn't like it.

"We're studying Defense," Harry said in an attempt to diffuse the tension. It did nothing of the sort, however, but it _did_ serve to further Harry's unease, because he was sure Anthony knew exactly what his motivation had been.

"Fiendfyre," Pansy choked out uncertainly. Harry felt a strong urge to hug her for trying, while simultaneously wishing he could slap a hand over her mouth, or make her disappear, or something of the sort. "He's helping me with Fiendfyre. I'm not very good at Defense."

"Well, I suppose you came to the right person," Anthony laughed, leaning over to kiss Harry's cheek. Harry felt bile rise in his throat, not from the contact, but because Draco was _right there_, and _oh_, he just _knew_ this was going to end horribly. "You should have seen him fifth year when he taught us all in the D.A. Brilliant, he was. I don't think as many of us would have lived through the Battle of Hogwarts if it weren't for those lessons."

Harry felt himself blushing. He hated when Anthony gushed, and Anthony _knew_ that, so he usually didn't unless he was teasing Harry. Why did he have to do this _now_? For Merlin's sake, was he forgetting that Draco _and_ Pansy had _not_ been on their side of the bloody war?

" That's not true," Harry laughed nervously. "You all would have done fine on your own. Hey, you know a lot about Fiendfyre, don't you? You should help Pansy out."

"My modest little Gryffindor," Anthony cooed, and this time he kissed him full on the mouth. Harry didn't quite kiss back, but he didn't pull away. He allowed Anthony to kiss him. When Anthony pulled away a few seconds later Harry felt dazed.

"Well, I do have my own studying to do, so I should get going. Huge Divination essay due tomorrow." He looked down at Harry, their faces close, and breathed, "See you later, Harry." And he kissed him again before standing up and grabbing his bag. "See you," he said stiltedly to Pansy and Draco, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the latter, and then he was gone.

The table was quiet for several minutes following Anthony's departure. Harry couldn't decipher Draco's face, nor Pansy's, for that matter. He was sure they were annoyed, because he knew they didn't like Anthony at all. Especially Draco. He and Anthony had fought not so long ago.

In fact, they'd fought about Harry. Anthony had accused Draco of having a crush on Harry, hadn't he?

Well, shit. That was even more awkward than Harry had realized while it was happening.

"Right," Harry said, desperate to start a conversation. The silence was killing him. "Er — where were we?" He looked hopefully at Pansy, but she still looked a bit frightened. "Oh, Fiendfyre!" Harry practically shouted. "Yeah, right, Fiendfyre is cursed, so you can't put it out with water. Right. Er — so, let's see, you could probably start the essay that way."

Pansy wasn't listening. She was staring at the tabletop, as though she was nervous. But _Draco_. Harry couldn't figure out whether Draco looked more livid or depressed. What in the world was going on? One second they're laughing with him, the next they're giving him the cold shoulder. Anthony wasn't even here that long!

"Hey, why don't we just give up studying for tonight," he said, gathering up his books. "We can go hang out in your dorm or something, I'll put on my Cloak.

But as Harry stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder, Draco stood too, and he pushed his own chair back into place with so much force that it slammed against the table. Harry looked at him with wide eyes. Pansy wasn't looking at him at all, but still appeared to be fascinated with the table.

"Actually, I'm feeling a little tired," Draco said coldly. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He hadn't heard Draco talk like that since . . . well, since they'd hated each other. "You go ahead. I'm sure Anthony's dorm will be open to you."

And without another word Draco stormed off. Pansy gave Harry one frightened look and then chased after him. Harry was left alone with his books and his bag, wondering what in the name of Merlin had just happened.

* * *

><p>According to the Map, Draco was in his dorm. Harry had checked it periodically every few hours or minutes or seconds or so. Something like that, anyway. He just couldn't get Draco's glaring face out of his head. The way he'd stormed out of the library had been like a punch to the gut. And Harry didn't even know why! He couldn't fathom why Draco would be so upset! Sure, he understood him being cranky while Anthony was around, but why would he be mad at <em>Harry<em>? What had he done?

He dropped back on his bed, the Map lying across his bare stomach, and closed his eyes. This was so incredibly stressful. He wished there was an easy answer — that he could stop being so infatuated with Draco and just be content with Anthony once again. It had been so simple.

He sighed and raised the Map above his head, looking for Draco's dot again, and sprang up in bed when he saw that it was leaving the Slytherin common room. He watched intently as it ascended the stairs and made its way to the empty bathroom on the second floor.

Harry wondered why Draco would have gone there, but then his brain came up with an answer for him: he probably figured Harry wouldn't think to look for him there. After all, for whatever reason, he was angry with him.

What he didn't know, however, was that Harry had his Map, and without thinking of the consequence Harry threw on his Cloak and made his quick way to Myrtle's bathroom.

It was eerily similar to sixth year. Draco was standing before a mirror looking miserable. Like the first time Harry had caught him this year, he had no shirt on, and he was so absorbed in his reflection that he didn't hear Harry's footsteps as he crept closer.

Draco had both hands on his stomach, and with the thumb and forefinger of one he was pinching the skin.

Harry swallowed and sank down against a wall. Draco continued to pinch the skin of his sunken stomach, and every few seconds he'd turn to look at himself from a different angle. The Mark was stark against his skin and it kept catching Harry's eye.

Even after the time he'd spent with Draco, and all the exposure to his insecurities, including the time he'd sat with him while he'd thrown up, it was still so hard to believe Draco truly thought so little of himself and his appearance. But here he was, criticizing his own body in the mirror, and when Harry saw a single tear slip down Draco's cheek he felt like his grief would swallow him whole. This had to be the most heartbreaking thing he'd ever seen in his life — excluding the sights from the war. But that was to be expected. This was just . . . well, it didn't make sense. In war there was death and sadness and that was just how it was going to be.

Draco was beautiful; there was no reason for him to think otherwise. There was no reason for him to be mutilating his body, or for him to look like such a completely destroyed, broken human being.

He watched Draco for a few more minutes, and when he simply couldn't take it anymore he removed the Cloak. Draco didn't notice him until he'd come within five feet. He spun around and instinctively covered his torso with him arms.

"Draco —"

What are you doing here?"

He looked both furious and humiliated. Harry sighed.

"Draco, what are you doing?"

His arms tightened around himself. "Go away, Harry. I don't feel like seeing you right now."

It felt like an ice cube had slipped down Harry's throat and landed in his stomach.

"Why?" he pleaded. "Why are you mad at me? What did I do?"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Draco bristled and backed away. Harry wanted nothing more than to go over and envelope him in his arms, but he resisted. He thought it would probably be a bad idea, given Draco's attitude at present.

"You are _such_ a . . ." Draco trailed off and closed his eyes, looking as though he was praying for patience. "I'm not even half joking right now, Harry. Get. Out."

"Just talk to me —" he tried, but Draco snapped.

"I TOLD YOU YO GO AWAY!"

Harry nodded silently, dejectedly, and gathered up his Cloak before leaving the loo. He didn't look back when he let the door close behind him.

Halfway down the corridor he pulled out the Map again, and this time the dot he searched for was Pansy's.


	21. Chapter 21

_I just want you all to know that I'm not ready to see Titanic in 3D, and if I never update again, you can safely assume I died in the theater. Although I didn't die after DH2, so perhaps I'll be alright. Or maybe this will be the final straw and I'll have an explosion of emotion. That would suck._

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Twenty-One_

Harry thanked his lucky stars that someone was coming out of the common room when he got there. With his Cloak on, he was able to slip into the girls' dorms and found Pansy sitting on her bed, looking through a magazine. Daphne Greengrass was in there as well, though, and Harry couldn't figure out how he would rectify this problem.

Smiling to himself, he walked around to the front of her bed and, making sure his entire back was covered and that Daphne couldn't see him, he lifted the front of the Cloak.

"Pansy."

Pansy looked up and, startled, she squealed.

"What?" Daphne snapped. Pansy pressed a hand to her heart and glared at Harry before looking back to her roommate.

"Nothing," she said. "I thought I saw a spider."

Harry grinned and stepped a bit closer. He pointed to himself, his mouth, and then at her. Pansy glanced over at Daphne.

"Not now," she mouthed. Harry nodded toward the door urgently. Pansy sighed long-sufferingly, earning a quizzical look from Daphne, and then closed her magazine.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Draco."

"Blaise said he's not in his dorm."

Pansy looked quickly at Harry and then back again. "Exactly. That's why I'm going to _find_ him."

Daphne glared and went back to her book. Harry followed Pansy out of the common room and a bit down the corridor before taking his Cloak off.

"Where's Draco?" she said immediately.

"I found him in the loo."

"But he didn't tell me he was going there!"

"That's not the problem. I need to talk to you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, probably annoyed by his dismissal of her question.

"What?"

"Why is Draco mad at me?" he asked, arms dropping to his sides dejectedly. Pansy's face softened.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, reminding him forcibly of Hermione when she was explaining emotions. "It's Anthony, of course."

"But Anthony was only with us for a few minutes!" he argued desperately. "And besides, it's not like I invited him over! How is it my fault?"

"Look . . . Harry. . . . It's not easy to see someone you're shagging with somebody else. You had your arm around him and he kissed you. I'm not saying he's a bad person for doing that, nor are you, you're dating him, after all . . . But, well, that's not easy for Draco to watch. He . . ." She stopped and her cheeks colored. Harry was so confused he thought his head might explode. "He's just a very possessive person, you know? He felt like you were ignoring him."

Draco's question in the Great Hall — about the Ravenclaw eagle and Slytherin's snake — came to mind and he sighed.

To be honest, Harry felt like an idiot for not having realized that before. Of course Draco would feel crappy with Anthony there. He hadn't thought of the fact that, just because _he_ knew he wasn't pleased to see Anthony, didn't mean Draco knew. He'd probably thought Harry was being a real jerk.

"Understand?" Pansy asked softly. Harry nodded and gave her a small smile.

"Thanks." And he leaned forward to give her a hug. "I'm horrible with this emotional stuff. Hermione had to explain everything about Cho fifth year."

Pansy laughed. "I don't blame you for that one. I heard she's a bit crazy."

Harry gently pushed her shoulder, squeezed her arm in thanks, and set off toward the Gryffindor common room. He wouldn't talk to Draco tonight—he thought the boy would probably want space. And besides, Harry needed some time to think things over anyway.

* * *

><p>Saturday morning rolled around and he still hadn't spoken to Draco. It had been nearly a week. But after his conversation with Pansy, he'd begun to think things over, and it was holding him back from doing anything about fixing the problem.<p>

He'd seen Anthony. In fact, he'd slept with him. Last night. It had felt horribly wrong.

And now it was ten in the morning, he was alone in his dorm, and his thoughts were plaguing him once again, even worse than before because of what he'd done last night.

He had no one. No one on _his_ side. There was Draco, and his feelings for that boy didn't even necessitate mentioning — he was . . . he adored him. Ridiculously so. Unimaginably so. Sometimes he would look at him and understand why people say you can love someone so much that it hurts. He would look at Draco, sleeping next to him, wherever they happened to be — the bathroom, the Great Hall — and his chest would become tight and he'd feel this rush of powerful emotion.

And then there was Pansy, who was wonderful, of course. But she was on Draco's side. No matter what, she would be biased if he brought up Anthony.

_Anthony_, whom he _obviously_ could not talk to about this sort of thing. It was, after all, _him_ Harry was cheating on.

Ron and Hermione — they would be on Anthony's side. Wouldn't they? Anthony deserved to have those two on his side. He'd done nothing wrong. He was sweet, and smart, and cute, and sexy, and . . .

And he was so different than Draco. In every way. Including the wonderful ways.

Anthony wasn't dainty and fragile like Draco. Harry wouldn't get that protective feeling around Anthony, and truth be told, he'd grown to love that feeling. Like he was the only one keeping Draco out of harm's reach. Somewhere in his mind it registered that that sounded a bit weird, but he blamed it on his mixed emotions — emotions that were currently running very high.

But who was there for Harry to talk to neutrally? Someone who wouldn't judge him, wouldn't have too many biases, and would just ilisten/i and let Harry talk? Someone who could make sense of these jumbled up, stupid emotions that were beginning to drive him mad?

If he really thought about it, he wasn't surprised to find himself knocking on McGonagall's door Saturday morning. Perhaps deep down he'd known for quite a while who he needed to talk to if he wanted straight answers. During the war, Harry had trusted him like he'd trusted no one else; somehow, it only made sense to spill his emotions and inner turmoil to his old headmaster and former mentor.

It didn't hurt that someone who knew Draco well would be privy to the conversation, either.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said in a tone of genuine surprise this time around. "What can I do for you?"

"Hello, Professor," he said with a tired smile. "I was wondering if . . ." he trailed off and his eyes flickered to Dumbledore's portrait, which was sleeping, ". . . er, If I could possibly speak to Professor Dumbledore for a few minutes."

He'd already done this a week ago and he wasn't quite sure McGonagall would leave him alone in the office for the second time. However, a small smile curved one side of her mouth and she sighed, as though attempting to appear aggravated by him.

"Breakfast begins in ten minutes," she said, eyeing him closely. Harry nodded. "You are not eating?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I thought . . . I'm not very hungry. I thought it would be a good time to talk to Professor Dumbledore." McGonagall's eye twinkled with mirth.

"Very well, Potter. I'll head down to breakfast now, but I expect you to be on your way out when I return in half an hour."

Harry sighed with relief. "Thank you, Professor. I will be."

And a moment later she was gone, and Harry flopped down in his once-familiar chair on the opposite side of the desk, looking up at Dumbledore's portrait and pretending he was actually sitting in the seat McGonagall had just vacated. It wasn't so difficult once Dumbledore opened his eyes and he smiled down at Harry just like he used to.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my dear boy?"

"Professor," Harry began, and his cheeks filled with blood, realizing exactly what he'd just gotten himself into. Had this been a bad idea? Was he even iallowed/i to talk to his former headmaster about these kinds of things?

He looked up at Dumbledore, swallowed nervously, and said, "I've gotten myself into a bad situation, sir."

Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "So it would seem! But in my experience, Harry, it is never easy to have feelings for someone that others deem unsuitable."

"S-sir?"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "My boy, in our time together we spoke only of relevant matters, namely, Voldemort. But did we not also discuss love? Was it not love that we found to be the very heart of the issue?"

Harry bit his lip, feeling very confused.

"What I am saying to you, Harry, is that together we found that love works in many mysterious ways — you should always remember that.

"Now, tell me: how do you feel about Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry choked on his own saliva and instinctually looked up at Snape's portrait. It was feigning sleep (which he thought was terribly tactful for Snape), although its mouth was curled into a sneer. Harry nearly laughed.

He looked back at Dumbledore and saw that he was smiling gently down at Harry, waiting for him to gather his nerve and speak.

"I . . . like him," he whispered, and he was astounded to hear it come out of his own mouth. "A lot."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "And may I be so bold to say that you've found yourself presented with more than just one problem?"

Harry had never felt so grateful for Dumbledore. "Yes," he breathed.

Dumbledore peered down his long, broken nose at Harry. "Elaborate?"

Harry fiddled with his fingers in his lap for a moment, trying to decide which issue to breech first.

"Sir," he began. Dumbledore sat back in his chair and watched Harry patiently. "My friends — Ron and Hermione — they don't like it." Dumbledore merely nodded. Harry sighed and went on. "No one does, actually. I . . . I've sort of alienated myself from the rest of the school. They don't like Draco."

"Typical," Snape drawled. Harry looked at his portrait, no longer pretending to be asleep, and could think of nothing else to do but nod.

"But that's not it," he continued. "I . . . Well, I only started, er, italking/i to Draco a few weeks ago. But I've been . . . I've been dating Anthony Goldstein for several months."

Snape sneered at him. Harry tried hard not to feel ashamed.

"That does pose an issue," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. He scratched his chin. "Well, Harry, what do you want to do about it?"

"I don't know," Harry whined, and sunk lower in his chair. "Anthony would be so much easier. Everyone likes him. I wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone —"

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave," Snape drawled. Harry's cheeks colored.

Dumbledore ignored him. "Well, Harry, why don't you ask yourself this: do other people's opinions mean as much as yours when it comes to whom you love?"

Harry shook his head in defeat. "Of course not," he croaked. A look of pity crossed Dumbledore's face.

"Let me tell you a story, Harry," he said eventually. Harry looked up, and he noticed Snape look over as well. "In your quest to find and destroy the Horcruxes, you learned of my friendship with Grindelwald."

Harry nodded slowly, wondering whether this Dumbledore knew they'd spoken about it at King's Cross. Well, the King's Cross in Harry's mind. He decided not to bring it up.

"There is a part of the story I never shared with anyone, because it was never relevant. And, I confess, it was difficult for me to come to terms with it myself after what happened with Ariana."

Harry looked down at his hands, feeling uncomfortable making Dumbledore talk about this.

Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts and said, "It is time I told someone, Harry, do not feel bad. And I can see no better time to do so than right now.

"I was very young when I met him, Harry — around your age, in fact, if not a few years younger. At school I'd thought of nothing but my achievements and, well, love took a back seat in my life. When I met Gellert, that changed."

Harry gaped. Surely he hadn't interpreted Dumbledore's words correctly.

"You . . ." he began, but found he had nothing else to say. Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"I was very much in love with Gellert Grindelwald, Harry. Aside from our 'plans,' it was what kept me so blinded. You see, I didn't want to think of him as a bad person. It was, essentially, the very reason it took me so long to go after him. There was the part of me that felt guilty about having planted the idea in his head, but there was also the part of me that had never stopped caring for him."

Harry swallowed and it felt like cotton. Dumbledore was _gay_? And he'd been in love with Grindelwald? But that was like . . .

"From the expression on your face, I will assume you've discovered the likeness between our situations?" Harry merely nodded. Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Fortunately, Harry, Mr. Malfoy is not — and never could be, I don't think — as ruthless as Grindelwald. We both know his heart was never in it when he joined Voldemort's ranks.

"I could never have explored my feelings for Grindelwald, Harry, because he was too blinded by his plans for power. Draco, on the other hand, seems to be very much attached to you already."

Harry glanced over at Snape and saw, to his astonishment, that the man was only looking away. He was not sneering.

"It is difficult to have feelings for someone who others deem inappropriate," Dumbledore repeated, snapping Harry out of his reverie. "But it does not mean that it should not be given a shot. If I may, I think that you and Draco could be very beneficial to each other in terms of balance."

Harry stared at a spot beneath the portrait for some time, taking all this in, and trying _very_ hard to imagine Dumbledore having feelings for someone, let alone being any age other than over one hundred.

This certainly changed things. Dumbledore thought he and Draco would make a good _couple_. Admittedly, he hadn't thought much about actually dating Draco. He'd been so preoccupied with guilty thoughts about his real boyfriend — and also caught up in the taboo part of fooling around with Draco Malfoy — that he'd hardly considered what that would be like.

And now that he had, he couldn't help smiling like an idiot. He imagined walking down the hallway with Draco, holding his hand, kissing him in public. Referring to him as his boyfriend. He could take him out on dates, and whenever someone asked "Who's that?" Harry could say, "That's my boyfriend."

But these glorious thoughts were disrupted by his initial qualms: his friends and the rest of the bloody Wizarding world. None of them would ever approve of Draco.

"Sir," Harry said quietly. "How am I supposed to make everyone accept Draco?"

Dumbledore gave him a searching look. "You cannot make anyone do anything, Harry. You can only change yourself."

Well, that didn't answer his question. He huffed and Dumbledore chuckled.

"I advise you to give it some thought. Nothing worth having ever comes easily."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Before he left Snape spoke up: "Send Draco my regards."

* * *

><p>Snape was right. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and avoiding talking to Draco for an entire week was certainly inoti brave. It took him until Monday night to push himself into action, but he finally did it.

Draco was outside. The weather had _finally_ begun to lighten up, and he was apparently standing by the bench where Harry had found him nearly two months ago when he'd been looking for Anthony.

How things had changed.

The lake was still frozen, but the air was much less frigid, and Harry only needed a light jacket and a scarf. As he walked up to Draco he found that this time he was wearing a cloak and a scarf himself, which probably would have been more beneficial last time, but the past was the past.

"Hey," Harry said, coming up beside Draco. Draco looked over at him and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"What do you want?"

Harry sighed and sat down on the bench, leaving Draco standing. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.

"Will you please talk to me?"

"No," Draco countered immediately.

"Draco —"

Draco spun around so fast, so sharply, that Harry's words died in his throat.

"Don't 'Draco' me!" He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. "We haven't spoken in a _week_!"

"You wouldn't let me!"

Draco's eyes narrowed and Harry felt suddenly like he was standing in the path of a hurricane.

"You tried once, and might I _remind_ you that you snuck up on me!"

"Why do _I_ have to be the only one to try? It wasn't like I did anything to hurt you on purpose!"

Harry's words apparently had the intended effect — or _an_ effect, at least — and Draco became somber. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned back around to look at the lake. Harry sighed and stood up, wrapping his arms around Draco from behind. When he wasn't shrugged off, he rested his chin on Draco's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Draco. But you have to remember: Anthony's my boyfriend. You told me when we first started doing this that you were okay with it being a secret."

Draco wriggled out of Harry's grasp and circled his own arms around himself defiantly.

"I know that," he said succinctly. "I _am_ okay with it. It's just that Goldstein bothers me. He's such a . . . _Ravenclaw_."

Harry frowned. "You don't even know what that means." He bit his lip and ploughed on, knowing Draco might get mad at what he was about to say. "You know, you still hold old prejudices, even if you don't do it consciously."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco snapped.

"It means you still stereotype Ravenclaws as pretentious, book-loving arseholes; Hufflepuffs as mentally insufficient, useless lumps; and Gryffindors as arrogant, hot-headed goody-two-shoes."

"I hardly think I could call you a goody-two-shoes, Potter," he drawled. Harry sighed and reached out for Draco's elbow, pulling him close even though the boy struggled weakly at first.

"Back to 'Potter', then?"

"I don't hold prejudices," Draco grumbled. "It's not a stereotype if it's true."

"Have you ever talked to Terry Boot? He does horrible in his classes. But he's smart, and he probably values intelligence a good bit more than anything else. It's the same as how the rest of the school sees Slytherins as nasty, cheating, back-stabbing, untrustworthy, conniving —"

"I get the picture!" Draco said sharply, digging his elbow into Harry's gut. Harry chuckled.

"The point is, you're not all like that. Mostly it's just you."

Draco acted offended — whilst trying to hide a smile — and made to push Harry away, but Harry caught his mouth in a kiss before he could say anything. It effectively shut Draco up.

"You're not a bad person," he whispered against his lips. "Most Slytherins aren't _bad_ people, just as all Ravenclaws aren't arrogant and bookish, Hufflepuffs aren't useless lumps, and Gryffindors aren't all bull-headed and all that."

Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Okay, I might be a little bull-headed," Harry sighed exaggeratedly. "But you get my point."

Draco was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating what Harry had said, while he played with a string on Harry's jumper. Harry watched and felt a smile grow on his lips.

It was times like these, when Draco let down his guard in front of him and seriously considered he might be wrong, that Harry felt his heart melt. It was frightening and incredible simultaneously. He was entirely aware that he'd never felt like this about anyone before.

Dumbledore's advice popped into his head again, and again Harry was forced to consider whether Draco might be worth the drama that would ensue should he ask him to be his —

"It's getting cold."

Harry had to shake his head to force himself back into reality and away from that dangerous thought. It had taken him by surprise. He resisted the urge to groan aloud.

_Those kinds of thoughts would only make this whole thing harder._

"Do you wanna go inside?" he whispered, placing both hands on Draco's cheeks and leaning close enough so their noses touched.

"Yeah."

_But how was he supposed to avoid those thoughts when it felt so right to hold Draco this close?_

Just before they parted for the night in the entrance hall, Harry spotted a small stain on Draco's shirt. He smiled.

"You spilled food on yourself," he chuckled, pointing to the stain. Draco cracked a weak smile — Harry thought it almost looked forced — and nodded.

"Yeah. Ketchup . . . from dinner. Why weren't you there, by the way?"

Harry shrugged. In truth, he had been holed up in his room trying to build up the nerve to do this — to find Draco and talk to him. But he wasn't going to tell Draco that.

"Wasn't hungry," he said instead. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" When Draco nodded he leaned down to kiss his lips lightly, and then turned to make his way back to Gryffindor Tower.


	22. Chapter 22

If Harry had known what a catalyst it would be, perhaps he never would have done it.

Perhaps he would not have even gotten out of bed that day.

But, as it were, life is cruel, and he could not have known the catastrophic effects which would follow such a simple gesture.

Indeed, he would have no way of knowing until the following day.

* * *

><p>He could have taken the weather as a bad omen when he woke up that morning, but ever since that talk he'd had with Draco in the Great Hall, he'd not looked at things with a fatalistic point of view. Instead, he smiled at the rain pounding on the window of his dorm, enjoying the sound of it.<p>

He knew he should be attempting to work out what to do regarding the situation with Draco and Anthony, but his spirits were lifted after having at least made up with Draco last night. And he couldn't seem to stop smiling whenever he thought of that ketchup stain on Draco's shirt. He wondered how something so strange could be so bloody adorable.

Even the sight of Ron and Hermione sitting together at breakfast couldn't wholly dampen his spirits. He sat down by himself and pulled a plate of sausages over, smiling to himself every once in a while at the thought of Draco. He must have looked spectacularly odd to anyone watching.

It was as though the world was deliberately trying to put him at ease this morning: halfway through his second sausage he looked up and saw Draco walk into the Great Hall. He watched him as he sat down at the Slytherin table next to Pansy, spread marmalade on a piece of toast, and, as though his anorexia had never been, took a large bite. Harry saw Pansy watching him with a wide smile as well. He longed to go over there and sit beside him, to smile with him and laugh with him and enjoy the happy atmosphere this morning, but he did not, if only because he was well aware of the way in which the rest of the Great Hall would react, and he was not willing to damage his (or Draco's) good mood.

He looked back down at his food and smiled again, remembering last night, remembering so many nights from the past few months. Draco's shy smile when Harry flirted with him; Draco's lovely pale skin beneath his fingers; Draco's perfect arse and the way it felt to slide into him, to be connected in that way; Draco's hips, and his hip bones; Draco's hair; Draco's laugh; Draco's ketchup stain on his shirt.

Draco, and everything that noun encompassed.

Harry was still smiling as he walked to his first class.

* * *

><p>The feeling of elation did not diminish after Charms, though Harry certainly felt as though Professor Flitwick was trying his hardest considering the <em>agonizing<em> monotony of his lecture.

As everyone exited the classroom Harry caught up to Draco and Pansy, who were walking side by side, and squeezed between them, taking their arms in his.

"I learned a lot today," he said, smiling devilishly at Draco. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I should hope so," he said, "because as an Auror, I'm certain the theory of levitation will be useful."

Harry snorted. "That's where you're wrong, my dear Draco." He was pleased to see Draco blush. Beside him, Pansy giggled. "As an Auror, levitation _itself_ may certainly come in handy. The _theory_, however, will be of no use to me when I'm operating on pure instinct, fighting for my life and the survival of hostages!"

"You're lucky you defeated a Dark Lord," Draco said. "Because if you hadn't, I would be so embarrassed for you right now that I might be inclined to walk away."

Harry smiled cheekily. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I did defeat a Dark Lord, hm?"

Draco looked over at him and in his eyes Harry saw lust. Pure, unadulterated lust. And though they were in the middle of a hallway filled with students, Harry felt blood begin to rush south as images of their time in the locker room chased themselves through his mind.

Pansy, for her part, while not the brightest, must have seen _something_, because she mumbled something about wanting to speak to a professor before the next class started. Harry didn't pay much attention. The warm glow that had surrounded him since this morning burned red. He looked around only briefly before grabbing Draco's hand and pulling him to the end of the corridor where he knew of an alcove which housed a brilliant window that contained an outcrop wide enough to sit on, and, most importantly, drapes.

Fairly certain that no one was watching, he shoved Draco behind the drapes and crawled on top of him. He'd had an idea that Draco might resist, might insist on getting to class, but to his delighted surprise Draco tangled his hands in Harry's hair and pulled him down into a rough kiss.

"So fucking hot," Draco whispered between frenzied kisses. Harry moved down to bite his neck, all at once determined to leave a mark. He didn't know where this suddenly ravenous hunger had come from, only that it was incredibly intense. "Turns me on . . . so much." Harry ground down, dragging their erections together, and delighted in Draco's quiet moan.

Before he could finish with what was promising to be a very large hickey, Draco grabbed his face and forced Harry to look at him. He devoured Harry with his eyes.

"What?" Harry teased, continuing the rocking motion with his hips. Slowly. So slowly. Drawing it out, watching Draco squirm. "Turns you on that I defeated a Dark Lord?" Harry never would have imagined himself saying something like that — something so egotistical and obnoxious. But the way Draco arched up into him and dug his fingers into Harry's cheeks made him think he would say just about anything if it elicited this kind of reaction. He thought about that night in the Great Hall—Draco's _kink_ — and felt his cock swell further. "Tell me what you're thinking, baby."

Draco opened his mouth and for a moment Harry thought he might scream right here in the middle of the hallway. But he didn't; his mouth merely fell open and his eyes closed, as though he _was_ screaming and someone had simply turned off the volume.

Harry bent forward, so his lips were near Draco's ear. "Tell me."

Draco gripped Harry's arms, like pillars on either side of Draco's face, and at the same time wrapped his legs around Harry's waist.

"When you killed him," Draco gasped, thrusting up into Harry so hard that it was a wonder he had any breath at all. "So fucking powerful, Harry. You don't even realize."

Later, he would be a bit embarrassed by his own response, but the way he reacted to Draco stroking his ego was incredible. He buried his face in Draco's neck and growled. Meanwhile, the friction between their bodies (specifically the rub of Harry's jeans against Draco's trousers), might have lit them both on fire had Harry's words not caused Draco to lose his mind in the next few minutes.

"Then tell me, baby."

"People are scared of you," Draco whispered, his eyes wide, staring, mesmerized, into Harry's. "_Fuck_, people are _scared_ of you."

"Mm, and does that turn you on, Draco? Does it turn you on that grown wizards are scared of me because I defeated Voldemort?" Draco's reaction to hearing Harry say that name was astounding: he whined high up in his throat and clutched Harry's arms more tightly. "Does it make you hard when you think about it? When you remember watching it happen?"

Harry lowered his voice so it was no more than a gravelly whisper. "Were you this hard when it happened? How much did it turn you on when I spoke about you before I killed him? When I told everyone watching how I'd _overpowered_ you and taken your wand."

"Harry!" Draco gasped, and his hands returned to Harry's cheeks, where they dug in painfully. "Harry, fuck me!"

Without another word Harry dragged Draco's trousers down until his arse was bared, unbuttoned his own jeans, pulled his cock out, and wasted no time in sucking on two fingers and shoving them unceremoniously into Draco's arse.

Draco muffled his shout in Harry's shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around Harry's neck and Harry could feel Draco trembling from the effort.

"You could come just like this, couldn't you?" Harry taunted, slamming his fingers into Draco and ripping them back out, only to repeat the process. Somewhere in the back of his mind he stored this information: he probably _could_ make Draco come this way. Apparently he not only had a kink for being called baby, but for being fingered, as well.

"Harry, please," Draco whimpered. "Fuck me."

He needed nothing more than that. He ripped Draco trousers the rest of the way off, not bothering to pull his own down even below his arse. His cock was out and that was enough. He quickly covered himself with spit and lined up with Draco's entrance.

"Don't waste time," Draco breathed. He pushed down, trying to get Harry inside. "Just fuck me. Hard. Fast. Now. It's almost break."

_Well, if that was what he wanted . . ._

Harry shoved his cock into Draco's willing body, nearly all the way to the root in one go. To stifle his cry, Draco bit Harry's shoulder where his robe had slipped. Harry was taken by surprise and he yelped. He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his skin, but he didn't care. _Couldn't_ care. Not when Draco was begging to be pounded.

Draco held on to Harry's neck as his insides were battered and his arse was dragged back and forth along the rough stone of the ledge on which they were fucking. Harry imagined Draco in the Great Hall, watching with everyone else when he'd killed Tom Riddle. Imagined Draco getting hard and picturing Harry fucking him. He knew, in his rational mind, that Draco's thoughts had been far from there when it had really been happening, but that didn't mean looking back on it didn't turn him on. Indeed, Draco had just admitted to it, and the thought made Harry feel so hot.

Sweat poured from him in copious amounts. His stomach was tensed and aching and his legs burned, but he thrust harder, needing right now to _fuck_, hard and dirty.

In the next few minutes they both found out that Draco had been right — a bell rang and classroom doors were flung open, releasing students into the corridors for a short break before they had to go back to lectures and potions and complicated wand movements.

Harry's eyes flew open at the same time that Draco tightened his hold around Harry's neck, his eyes remaining shut.

"Don't stop," Draco rasped, rocking his body harder now, trying desperately to finish. "I won't scream, I promise, just _don't stop_."

Fortunately (and strangely, as Harry thought about it later), the sounds of students so close by, separated by only a few feet of alcove and a heavy drape, excited Harry further. Was it possible for him to be harder than he'd been before? Perhaps. Either way, he found himself slamming mercilessly into Draco arse, thanking Merlin that he hadn't removed his jeans and thus prevented the sound of slapping skin.

"Are you gonna come?" he growled. Draco whimpered. His heels dug into Harry's back and he bit Harry's shoulder again. Harry just managed not to cry out in pain as Draco's teeth sunk into the raw wounds from only minutes ago. He did, however, pound into Draco so roughly on that stroke that Draco's head nearly hit the wall behind him.

Harry was so close. He could feel his climax building up like a wild river behind a dam.

"Are you gonna scream?" he taunted, knowing he shouldn't provoke Draco, but unable to help himself. "Let all those students know that you're being fucked by Harry Potter back here? That you're gonna come without me touching your cock?"

Again, Draco sunk his teeth into a spot close enough to the original bite mark on Harry's shoulder that a few teeth punctured still-bleeding marks. This time, however, he felt Draco tense up and, just as he'd said, felt Draco reach his orgasm without having had his cock stimulated. This knowledge combined with the feeling of Draco's arse clenching around him sent Harry over the edge as well. Draco leaned up to capture Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss, effectively muffling his shout of release.

Harry could have no idea of the girl hidden halfway down the corridor, waiting impatiently for them to finish.

* * *

><p>It was during her five minute break from Potions that Ginny heard Harry shout. She'd been leaning against the wall, talking to a classmate, when the sound had come from somewhere to her right. She'd known almost immediately to whom the voice belonged — after all, while they hadn't done <em>much<em>, they'd done _something_, and Ginny remembered what Harry sounded like when he moaned.

No one else appeared to have heard it. Curious, she'd told her friend she'd get to class in a moment when the bell rang to signal the end of the break. As soon as the hallway had cleared out she'd stopped breathing for a moment, listening to any further noise. Had she imagined it?

As if in answer to the thought, another sound made itself known. This was much quieter — just a gasp. It had come from the alcove nearby. Her eyebrows dipped and she crept closer, peeking around the wall and watching the drapes that obscured a large window flutter. There were small sounds coming from the other side, that of heavy breathing and quiet shuffling.

Ginny's stomach clenched. It was painfully obvious that there were two people behind those drapes, and that those two people had just gotten done doing something definitely illicit. Ordinarily, Ginny would have shrugged and gone back to class, not one to make trouble for anyone who felt like shagging during class. She'd always been very liberal about that.

But she'd heard Harry. She had no doubt. And this close, she could smell him, too. The scent of sex, sweat, and, very faintly, the same thing she'd smelled when she'd been sexual with Harry. His unique brand of sexual exertion.

It could have been Anthony.

But it wasn't. And Ginny knew this as certainly as she knew it was Harry behind there.

She licked her lips and ducked back behind the wall, looking around for another alcove in which she could hide and wait. There were none, unfortunately, but there _was_ a plant halfway down the corridor, just in front of the door to her classroom, and that's where she went.

Several minutes later she heard more rustling and stilled her body entirely when she saw Harry and — yes, she _knew_ it — Malfoy emerge from the alcove. Both were sweaty and flushed, and both were smiling like idiots. Idiots who'd just got done shagging spontaneously. She seethed.

Harry's mouth moved, though she couldn't hear him, and then she watched as he leaned forward and kissed Malfoy on the lips. Malfoy broke away quickly and looked around, panicked. She adored the irony of the situation. He was worried about a straggler seeing them.

Neither, however, was worried about someone else seeing. Perhaps someone who'd cottoned on to what they were doing and was waiting to see proof.

She hated Harry for it. For everything. For being gay, but most of all for _this_. For _Malfoy_. He'd left her for a boy. It had crushed her. But the horror of watching him — noble Harry Potter — cheating on that boy with _Malfoy_. It was beyond words, beyond humiliation, beyond anger or resentment. He could have literally stabbed her in the back with a knife and it would have hurt less than this.

She watched with angry tears trailing down her cheeks as the boys made their way down the corridor and out of sight, probably having decided to skip the second part of the lesson.

She wanted to hurt Harry. She wanted to hit him and to yell at him and make him feel as badly as she felt. Make him regret what he'd done. And a moment later a way to do this occurred to her. Something even better than yelling at him.

She bit her lip, aware of the desperation behind her actions. But it didn't matter.

Tonight, during dinner, she'd go up to Ravenclaw Tower and wait for Anthony.


	23. Chapter 23

_Slow but surely, the story is still coming along. Only a few chapters left! We'll get there!_

__**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Twenty-Three_

Anthony was already feeling stressed and tired and lethargic when he came upon Ginny standing by the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower. He'd been studying all day and had an exam in his last class. The last thing he wanted right now was to see a teary-eyed Ginny Weasley waiting for him with her arms crossed and mouth set.

He knew. Everything about her appearance said it clearly. And he felt his stomach clench and tears build up behind his eyes.

"Anthony," Ginny said as he approached her. He nodded. "There's — there's something I have to tell you."

* * *

><p>Draco looked adorable when he was concentrating. In fact, it was a bit distracting, and Harry couldn't manage to focus on his own work with Draco writing an essay beside him. The library was emptying out for the night and the two sat alone at a table. Pansy was off doing something on her own, claiming to have no interest in studying tonight.<p>

"Can you stop doing that?"

Draco looked up from his essay and frowned.

"Stop doing what?"

"Looking so bloody cute," Harry whispered, eyes still on his textbook. Peripherally he saw Draco blush. "It's distracting me."

"My sincerest apologies," Draco drawled. He scrolled up his parchment and packed it away in his bag. Harry watched him stand up and felt his heart flutter when he caught sight of the soft smile on Draco's face. "Maybe you'll get some work done now that I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

Draco scoffed. "To bed. I'm tired. And anyway, tomorrow's Thursday and I have Arithmancy in the morning."

Harry just caught himself before he reached out to pull Draco down into a kiss. Draco must have noticed because he smirked.

"Goodnight, Harry," he said softly. Harry merely smiled, finding that he quite suddenly couldn't make his jaw work. He watched Draco leave the library, his hips subtly swaying as he walked, no doubt to tease. An enormous smile was playing on Harry's face when he turned back to his work.

He stayed for another hour, trying desperately to finish his Transfiguration homework. Life without Hermione was certainly difficult. The thought of her put a damper on his good spirits and he left the library with his shoulders slumped a bit. Merlin, he missed Ron and Hermione.

He was walking along the corridor that led to Gryffindor Tower when he spotted Anthony leaning against the wall. Habitually, he put on a smile and moved toward his boyfriend, reaching out to grab his hand, despite the fact that he no longer held much desire to do so.

Anthony slapped his hand away and Harry froze. As is generally the case when one is burdened with a guilty conscience, Harry's mind immediately jumped to one conclusion: _he knows._

"Let's move this to an empty classroom, shall we?" Anthony said, unnervingly calm. Harry swallowed. Nodded. Anthony led him through a door on the opposite side of the hallway, closing and locking the door behind them.

"Is . . . something wrong?" Harry asked lamely. Anthony's cheeks flushed with palpable anger.

"I'm not sure," he answered rather cryptically. His arms folded over his chest and he leant back on a desk.

Harry hesitated a moment. "What do you mean . . . ?"

"How's Malfoy?"

Harry's stomach did a strange flip-flop and a lump suddenly appeared in his throat.

"He's. . . . Er, he's doing a lot better. Why do you ask?"

Anthony pursed his lips. He ignored Harry's question entirely. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you have feelings for Malfoy?"

"What?" Harry stammered, taken completely off guard by the blunt question. "No, of course not. Anthony, I'm with _you_."

"So, hypothetically, if you ever _did_ start having feelings for him, you'd be honest about it, wouldn't you? You'd let me know, so we could figure something out?"

"O-of course." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. They were sweating profusely and beginning to shake.

"And if you ever, I don't know, became _physical_ with him, you'd tell me, wouldn't you? So that we could talk about it?"

"Anthony, I would never —"

"Wouldn't you?"

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the ground, willing his body to stop giving him away. This was already a mess, but if he could talk Anthony out of his suspicions maybe he could still salvage the situation.

"You know I would, Anthony."

Anthony positively _fumed_.

"So if I asked you right now whether you and Malfoy have ever had sex, you'd tell me no?"

"I told you before, Anthony, my relationship with Malfoy is _purely_ —"

"Answer the question, Harry," he said sharply. Harry swallowed thickly.

"No, I've never had sex with Malfoy. I would never do that to —"

"You're a fucking liar!" he burst out, startling Harry and causing him to stumble back a step. "Don't lie to me, Harry, you've been fucking Malfoy for _weeks_!"

And even though he _knew_ Anthony was right, Harry felt indignant at being accused of anything. His infamous temper began to bubble and he stepped closer.

"I've never so much as _touched_ him, Anthony!" he shouted. "How dare you accuse me of cheating!"

"FUCK YOU, HARRY!" The sound echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls, making Harry feel two feet tall in the face of his outraged boyfriend. "GINNY SAW YOU YESTERDAY! SHE SAW YOU AND MALFOY LEAVE THAT ALCOVE AND SHE SAW YOU KISS HIM! IF YOU WEREN'T FUCKING HIM BEHIND THOSE DRAPES THEN WHAT _WERE_ YOU DOING, HARRY?"

Harry couldn't find his voice.

Yesterday. Behind the drapes. _Ginny had been in the corridor. Ginny had heard them, and she'd seen them kiss._

_And she'd told Anthony._

He felt angry tears welling up in his eyes and a desire to punch something. The sheer enormity of the whole situation pressed down on him and suddenly his whole body ached.

When he stayed silent for another few seconds Anthony sneered at him.

"You're pathetic," he seethed. "This is over. Have fun with _Malfoy_."

And with that Anthony left the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. Harry heard his footsteps moving away from the room until they faded completely. And then he sagged against a wall and buried his face in his hands.

* * *

><p>The Map told Harry that Draco was in his dorm. Remembering how Draco had contacted him that night that seemed so long ago, he scribbled something on a piece of parchment and found a lingering Slytherin student, asking if she'd be so kind as to deliver it to Draco. She agreed, though with obvious ambivalence.<p>

He waited in the prefects' bathroom. He went to the stall, recalling the time he'd rubbed Draco's back as he vomited. And there were the mirrors, where he'd watched Draco scrutinize his body. Where he'd first found him that night two months ago and become curious.

He dangled his legs over the empty pool. Remembered washing Draco's back, kissing him for the first time, putting bubbles on his face.

His thoughts were broken by the sound of the door opening and shutting. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He wished desperately that he could have this conversation with his back turned. So he wouldn't have to see Draco's face.

He sounded like a coward even to himself, and it stung.

"Harry?"

Harry hauled himself up and, with a deep breath, turned to face Draco. There had been a small smile on his face that was effectively wiped away when he caught sight of Harry's miserable expression.

"What happened?"

Harry walked up to Draco and reached an arm out, intending to plant it on Draco's waist and pull him close. But at the last second he remembered, and let it fall back at his side. Draco's concern grew visibly.

"Anthony," he whispered, shaking his head. He couldn't find words. He sensed Draco tense.

"What about him?"

Harry continued to stare at the floor for another few moments, fighting back tears, knowing that his eyes must be red from the effort.

"Harry, what —"

"We broke up," he said succinctly. Draco's gulp was audible. He finally lifted his head and met Draco's eyes. "The other day, Ginny heard us. Saw me kiss you in the corridor." He paused. Gathered himself. "She told Anthony."

He could see the sympathy in Draco's gaze, but there was a kind of excitement — possibly even relief —that accompanied it. Harry had to choke back a sob. Draco moved closer and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck before Harry could move away. Of course, he could have managed if he'd tried, but a part of him didn't want to. A part of him wanted to break down in Draco's arms and stay there until everything stopped hurting.

But he couldn't do that, because it wasn't fair. He'd messed up so badly, being with Draco wasn't a feasible option. He'd cheated on Anthony — a wonderful, incredible person, and alienated not only the entire school, but his best friends. He hadn't spoken to Ron or Hermione in weeks. And now he couldn't continue this thing with Draco, because it should never have happened in the first place. The guilt felt like it was eating him alive.

He felt Draco's lips on the corner of his mouth and pushed him away. Draco looked both startled and hurt.

Harry shook his head. "I can't see you anymore, Draco," he said quietly. He watched Draco process his words, and when tears built up in those gray eyes Harry thought he might vomit. "I'm sorry."

And without giving himself a chance to change his mind or finally break down and cry, he swiftly fled the bathroom.


	24. Chapter 24

_Well, that was quick. Enjoy, my lovely readers!_

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Twenty-Four_

He'd expected Ron and Hermione to take him back. Or, at the very least, allow him to explain himself. Possibly yell at him. Maybe they'd have a fight. But there had been no doubt in his mind that they'd go back to being friends, however shaky it may have been at first.

This wasn't the case.

When he'd walked into the common room that same night, he'd found Ron and Hermione sitting by the fire. Crookshanks had been sleeping on Hermione's lap while she read. Ron had been pretending to do homework. It was so nostalgic and familiar that Harry had felt a lump rise in his throat. How had he managed to alienate himself from this?

He'd sat down in a chair near them and both had looked at him with confusion written clearly all over their faces. And he'd launched into an explanation. He'd told them about how Ginny had caught him and Malfoy, and he'd begged for their forgiveness for lying to them. He'd told them about how Anthony had broken up with him, and how, subsequently, he had broken it off with Malfoy, because his insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart with guilt. He was lost, felt broken, and he'd admitted this.

He'd not expected the cold look from Ron, nor his silence. And when Ron had gone back to his homework without a word, it had hurt just as much, if not more, than the two breakups he'd endured earlier that night. But Hermione's silence — that was earthshattering. Hermione had always been the one to deal with him and help him make it better. To steer him in the right direction, never becoming frustrated when he was stubborn.

But despite the sad look underlying the anger on her face, she, too, had not uttered a word, and gone back to her book. He'd sat there for a moment, shocked into a kind of temporary paralysis, until Hermione had mumbled, "We don't have anything to say to you, Harry."

And with that, he'd gotten up from his seat, his body numb, and went to his dorm, where he closed the curtains and curled up under his comforter, clutching at the sheets, trying to pretend that he was dead.

* * *

><p>In the days that followed things only managed to get worse. Ron and Hermione still wouldn't talk to him, along with the rest of the school, because, as per usual at Hogwarts, gossip spread like wildfire. He received dirty looks from Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike. Even from Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins didn't seem to care all that much. Save for Zabini, from whom he'd caught a death glare. And Pansy. That had been indescribably hurtful, and he thought he'd never felt so ashamed.<p>

Harry was completely and utterly alone. Even when he _had _tried talking to Pansy she'd sneered at him and stalked away. It was like a punch to the gut. Like suddenly he'd developed a highly contagious disease and no one thought he was worth the risk. The fact that only a year previously he'd saved them all from dictatorship under a Dark Lord didn't seem to matter in light of the circumstances. Their hero was now a cheating, back-stabbing man-slut. And maybe it was worse that it was him. Maybe they'd expected more because of who he was, and his fall from grace was much greater than anyone else's might have been.

Just as terrible as the alienation was watching Draco steadily shift back to his old habits. Harry hadn't tried speaking to him — he respected Draco more than that. But it was pure agony to be so utterly aware of his absences at meal time, and, after a week passed, from classes as well. The weight he'd gained was dropping much too quickly. Harry spotted another stain on his shirt, and realized, for the first time, that that day he'd seen the ketchup stain, after they'd been fighting — well, that hadn't been a ketchup stain. He'd been puking while they hadn't been talking, and Harry felt like vomiting himself at the thought of what Draco might be getting up to _now_.

The inner conflict was torture. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he continued to sit by and watch Draco destroy his body, but on the other hand, he couldn't imagine Draco would have anything to do with him at this point. He felt like he had no right to try to make Draco stop, not after what he'd done to him.

But _God _was this painful.

* * *

><p>"Draco, please," Pansy sobbed. "Please, you have to get up and go to class. They'll contact your p . . ." She trailed off, remembering, biting her lip.<p>

Draco laughed harshly; it was a weak, grainy sound. Pansy shivered, right down to her bones.

Draco lay on his bed, under his covers, curled up in a ball. She was glad for the comforter, because she'd seen his body yesterday, and she'd nearly heaved. He was _bad_. She didn't know if it was worse than it had been before, or if it only seemed that way because he'd been so happy lately, but . . . It was frightening, to say the very least.

It _was_ worse than last time, though. Because this time it wasn't just his body: it was Harry, too. It was anxiety and depression and stress all balled up into one and mixed up with his eating disorder. She remembered all too well what Draco had said that night only a week ago; apparently he hadn't been lying. Here he was, a small, prone form on his bed, and he was _dying_. Physically and mentally slipping away from her like sand.

Pansy swallowed harshly at the thought.

"My _parents_?" he spat, and Pansy could hear the sneer in his voice, and the longing, and the sadness, and everything else that was eating him alive. Tears welled up in her eyes and one quickly spilled over. "I wish them well in their efforts."

Pansy stared at him for another moment before she left the room, head down, tears still trailing down her cheeks. Blaise sat on the couch, waiting for her, and she sat down next to him heavily. He draped an arm over her shoulders.

"Any luck?"

She merely shook her head. Blaise sighed and tightened his grip.

"I don't know who to be angriest at," he said softly. "Potter, the Weasel, or Draco."

Pansy laughed wetly and leaned further into Blaise's embrace.

"I know it was shitty of them to do to Goldstein, but I still hate Weasley for doing this," she mumbled. "I . . . I know Harry would have broken up with his _stupid _Ravenclaw eventually. I'm sure of it. He was so in love with Draco."

"Potter's always been stupid," Blaise grumbled.

"He _loves_ Draco, Blaise," she said insistently, pulling away from him. Blaise raised a brow. Her breath was coming out in short, sharp bursts. "I _know _he does. The way he would talk about him sometimes . . . He sounded like a bloody Hufflepuff!"

"Pans," he said softly, a small, sad smile playing on his face.

"No." She stood up suddenly, glaring down at Blaise with a fire in her eyes. "Harry was . . . he was in _love_ with him." She felt tears building in her eyes again. This was all so unfair. If that _stupid_ Weasley girl had just minded her own business Harry would have figured it out. She _knew_ it. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She'd gotten to know him recently, because of Draco. She'd been forced to give him a chance . . . and _he'd_ initiated it! He could be an oblivious, stubborn idiot sometimes, yes. But now she could finally see what everyone else saw. What Granger and Weasley saw in him; what had given them so much faith in that boy during the war. It was strange, because just as she was beginning to notice it, everyone in the school seemed to have forgotten. But _she knew_, even if the whole school wanted to pretend it was no longer true. Even if she hated him again.

Harry Potter was a good person. As much as she would have liked to strangle him; as impossible as she knew it would be to talk to him without flinging a hex, she knew it was true. What else would have possessed a person to speak the way he had so often about _Draco_, especially considering the part he'd played in the war?

"Where are you going?" Blaise asked, standing up, as she moved toward the entrance to the common room, her hands shaking with anger and determination. With the force of her resentment. Because this situation was just so utterly, _unbearably _unfair.

"Make sure to check on Draco," she said, and swiftly made her exit.

* * *

><p>Not Sirius, nor Dumbledore, nor <em>Merlin himself <em>could have prepared Harry for the spectacle following dinner.

Draco hadn't been there (as per usual at mealtimes in the last four days), and Harry's stomach had been churning uncomfortably as he ate, and was continuing to do so as he exited the Great Hall behind and alongside a great many other students. He couldn't understand why there was a backup. Sure, there were a lot of students, but the entrance hall was bigger than the Durselys' whole bloody house. There'd never been a doorjamb before in his six and a half years at the school.

It was as he managed to struggle through a group of unmoving second years that he first heard the shouting. It sent a shiver down his spine, because _that was Ginny's voice._

". . . doesn't matter anyway!" she shrieked. Peering above a few heads, Harry could make out Pansy standing a few feet away from Ginny, both girls at the center of a circle of students watching the fight eagerly. "He was _cheating_ on Anthony! Someone had to tell him, because _Harry _clearly wasn't!"

"You're such a selfish bitch!" Pansy shouted. Harry's eyes went wide with mild terror. He couldn't be sure whether he was more angry or terrified that Pansy had just called Ginny a selfish bitch. Clearly she was unaware of the fact that Weasley women could be scarier than Voldemort when they wanted to. "Everyone knows you did it because you're bitter that _you _can't have him, Weasley!"

Ginny balked. "How _dare _you —"

"Harry loved him!" Pansy yelled over her. This effectively shut Ginny up. Harry felt heat crawling over his cheeks and down his neck like flames. He wanted to shrink into the crowd, or sink into the foundations of the castle; anything to stop people from beginning to notice him and stare unabashedly. "If you _actually_ cared about Harry then you would have left well enough alone! You would have _seen_ how happy he was with Draco! Instead of dropping him like an old _toy _you would have _talked _to him! "

Ginny scoffed and crossed her arms across his chest. "Since when do _you _defend him, Parkinson?"

"I'm not defending him," Pansy hissed. "Everything he did was shitty. He hurt Draco, and I won't forgive him for it." It felt as though cold tendrils were creeping into his belly and wrapping around his organs. His heart. His lungs. Squeezing. His chest felt tight, like he couldn't take in enough air. "But at least _I know_ that they were happy, and if it weren't for _you_, he would have done the right thing eventually. I think it says something that you didn't trust him."

"Fuck you!" Ginny screamed, and Harry noticed tears trailing down her cheeks. "You're just as bad, condoning a relationship based on _lies_! You don't even _know_Harry!" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Less than a year ago you were perfectly happy to give him up to You-Know-Who, if I remember correctly —!"

"Shut up!"

"Make me!"

Just as it looked as though Pansy would lunge at Ginny, McGonagall stepped through the crowd and placed herself between the two girls.

"Enough!" she said sharply. "Fifteen points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin for language and sheer lack of self-control." She glared at them in turn. "Return to your Houses immediately. All of you."

Harry stood stock still as the sea of students parted around him and drifted off to their respective Houses. Pansy stomped down the stairs without looking back, but he saw Ginny glance over her shoulder as she climbed up the marble staircase. She spotted him and shot him a glare full of loathing.

Only when students had stopped blatantly staring did he pull out his Cloak and drape it over himself, then race up the stairs and down a corridor, running into the first empty classroom he could find and finally, _finally_ breaking down against a wall.


	25. Chapter 25

_Yay! Updates. Sweet. Also, I have made a Tumblr, so if you want to ask questions you may do so on there, and I will post links to updates, as well. :)_

_The URL is miss-kaitlynn(dot)tumblr(dot)com._

_Anyway, onwards and upwards. _

**Manorexic  
><strong>_Chapter Twenty-Five_

If he didn't already know for a fact it wasn't true, Harry would have said this was what dying might feel like. His body thrummed with a sense of grief so powerful it eclipsed all else. He felt like he could hardly breathe, and he took in great, gasping lungfuls of air in a futile attempt.

He rested his forehead against his knees and threaded his fingers through his hair, digging his nails harshly into his scalp, fixating on the pain. He felt lost, broken, and utterly helpless. The fact that he'd saved the world last May meant nothing, because he'd managed, in the course of a few days, to hurt every single person he loved. Anthony, Draco, Ginny, Pansy. Ron and Hermione. No doubt Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would know. The thought of Mrs. Weasley's wounded expression, the look of betrayal with which she would surely fix him, caused his stomach to churn angrily.

He startled when the door to the room opened and he jumped to his feet reflexively. The sight of Hermione walking in and shutting the door behind her felt like some kind of trigger; the tears that had momentarily ceased turned into heavy sobs that wracked his body and forced him back to the ground.

"Oh, Harry . . ."

He heard her run over and a moment later her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, pressing his head into her chest and rocking him gently.

"Harry," she whispered. Her hand smoothed through his hair. He thought he could hear tears in her voice. "Shh." He continued to cry into her shoulder, one hand clutching tightly at her robe, as she petted his hair and whispered soothing words. For many minutes this went on, until finally his heavy sobbing eased into sporadic hiccups and sniffling, and she leaned up against the wall, taking him with her.

"You've done a really fine job of making a mess this time, haven't you?" Hermione said with a sigh. Harry clutched her robe more tightly.

"I . . . I didn't . . . Hermione, I would never –"

"I know you didn't do it on purpose." Reaching down to grab his hand, she gently persuaded him into sitting up straight next to her. His eyes felt puffy, and he was sure they were all red. As though she'd sensed his thoughts were beginning to drift, Hermione placed a hand on Harry's cheek, forcing him to look at her. "But, Harry, that doesn't make it okay. You _really_hurt a lot of people, myself included."

Another tear trailed down his cheek. Harry reached out for Hermione's hand again and wrapped it in both of his. Her eyes were wet with impending tears of her own. Harry laughed mirthlessly, shook his head, and looked back up.

"'Mione, I'm so sorry. You and Ron – you're my best friends, and I shouldn't have pushed you away. It's been miserable without you."

"Then why did you do it, Harry?" she whispered.

Harry gripped her hand more tightly. "I didn't know what to do," he admitted. "No one wanted me to even _speak_to Draco. . . . I knew what would happen if anybody found out we were . . . er . . ."

"Being intimate?" she supplied. Harry nodded, eyes downcast. "Were you two already that far on Ron's birthday? When you said you'd stopped talking to him?"

"We'd kissed," he said softly. "That was it."

"And had you really stopped talking to him?"

Harry looked up at this. "Yeah, we had. We'd had a fight."

"So, why did you leave, then? During the party?"

Harry sighed. Dropped her hand and ran it through his hair. He leaned back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.

"He had a student deliver a letter to me. Said he needed me to meet him as soon as possible." He continued staring at the same spot, but he could feel Hermione shift uncomfortably next to him, waiting for the rest of the story. "He was a mess. He'd had a panic attack. I stayed there with him for most of the night."

"And then you came back at four in the morning," she added quietly. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Then that."

"And . . . things progressed from there . . . ?"

Harry sighed and finally looked at her. "It wasn't that easy."

He explained everything to her. Learning more about Draco's family, his early life, and the way his dad had treated him. About the self-image issues he'd harbored since he was at least thirteen. Probably younger. She gasped when he told her about Draco's attempts at gagging himself, and he saw her tear up when he made it to the part where he'd sat there while Draco threw up in the prefects' bathroom. But he also explained the good parts. How Draco had another side to him that she wouldn't believe; that he could be sweet, and shy, and harmless, and he could be funny, and laugh. He could be compassionate, even, when he was in the mood.

When he ended with the story of how he'd broken it off with Draco the previous week, Hermione placed a hand on his arm.

"What I don't understand," she said softly, "is . . . why you ended things with him."

Harry looked at her blankly.

"What?"

"I mean . . . it was horrible of you to cheat on Anthony like that, but it's clear you had . . . _have_. . . feelings for Malfoy. I just don't understand why you broke up with him. After all this, what made you do it?"

"I couldn't do it anymore," he said. Her hand tightened around his arm. "I couldn't do it anymore, Hermione. When Anthony broke up with me, I realized what a mess I'd made. And I . . . I felt guilty. For hurting him. And you guys. And Draco. I was a wreck, and I thought it was for the best."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, apparently lost in thought.

"You messed up a whole lot, Harry," she said finally, and it was like a knife to his heart. "But that doesn't mean you can't fix it."

It was miniscule, but a sudden spark of hope flared in his chest. And a thought occurred to him: _How did I go two months without her?_

"What d'you mean?"

"Harry." She looked stoically into his eyes. "What do _you_ want? In an ideal world, what would happen now? Forget what you think you _should_ do, or what _should_happen. What would you have?"

What would _he_ have? Well, that was easy. He'd have his life back. Back to _normal_. With Ron and Hermione there. He'd have Ginny not resent him for being gay. And on top of that, he'd have Draco. Be able to bring him round the Weasleys' for Christmas and Thanksgiving and every other conceivable holiday that they could spend with their family_together_.

When he began silently crying again, Hermione touched his hand.

"What is it, Harry?"

He shook his head. "My life," he said. "I'd have my life back." Hermione bit her lip.

"You know that's not what I meant . . ."

This, more than anything else, sent him into a fit of anger. He knew, not so deep down, that he wasn't mad at Hermione. But that was so much easier than admitting to being scared by his true desires. Easier than acknowledging the fact that she _knew_what he was trying to avoid saying.

He pulled away from her and stood up, crossing his arms over his chest in an effort to feel smaller.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

He wasn't surprised when he heard Hermione stand up, but he refused to make eye contact when she stepped in front of him.

"You're right," she said. Her words shocked him and Harry raised his head to meet her quiet gaze. "I don't. So can you please tell me?"

There was a long, drawn-out moment where they stared at each other. Harry's brain flitted through memories, ones of himself and Hermione on the run, alone, without Ron. Could he trust Hermione with his life? Absolutely. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind. Could he trust her with something like _this_?

He took a deep breath. Maybe it was that lack of trust precisely that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

"Sit down," he said quietly. Hermione nodded, and moved over to a small table on the other side of the room, sliding into an old wooden chair that probably wouldn't hold much more weight without collapsing. Harry took the one across from her. He folded his hands on the surface of the table and only took a second to gather his thoughts.

When he looked up at her, her eyes were soft and bright and open, and Harry's shoulders relaxed. Just a little. Hermione was safe. She was the safest place he would ever have in this whole, cruel world, and if he wanted to straighten anything out, if he wanted even a small chance of fixing anything . . . well, here was his answer.

"A few weeks again," he began, "in the middle of the night, Draco took me to the Great Hall." Hermione's eyebrows threaded but she didn't interrupt. "He had me lie down on the floor and look up at the stars. He showed me some of the constellations. The one he was named after. And then he told me to find the brightest star." He knew then that Hermione had guessed what he was going to say, because her eyes turned sad. He plowed on. "I guess you know what its name is, then." She nodded. He took another breath. "It was so . . . sweet. He said Sirius is the brightest star in the sky."

"It is," Hermione breathed, and he saw a tear finally run down her cheek. She was smiling sadly. "Twenty-two times the luminosity of the sun."

"I think I'm in love with him," he said bluntly. Hermione looked stunned, but only briefly; as though it wasn't the admission that had shocked her, but rather the suddenness of it. The next words out of her mouth nearly startled him out of his wobbly chair.

"I know."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling absurdly like a fish on land. He swallowed. Try to make his mouth feel less dry. Nothing seemed to work.

"You . . . what?" he choked. She shrugged.

"I know," she repeated. "Harry, I've known you for seven years. If there's one thing about you that's predictable, it's that when you care about someone, you tend to act rather irrationally. And, well, what you've been doing for the past few months? That's pretty irrational."

"When did you figure it out?"

At this, her cheeks turned red. "I wish I could say it occurred to me right away, but it didn't. It only pieced itself together when you ran out of the entrance hall, after McGonagall broke up the fight between Pansy and Ginny."

He resisted the urge to bash his head against the table. "You were there?"

"Yeah," she said with a small nod. "I went to find the Map once you'd disappeared under the Cloak."

"I can't imagine why you're here with me after witnessing that. They both made it pretty clear that I'm a horrible person."

Hermione reached across the table and took his hand. "You're not a horrible person, Harry. You're just really passionate, and sometimes it clouds your judgment. So you made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah, but not everyone is held on a pedestal and expected to be a role-model for the whole bloody world," he grumbled. Hermione squeezed his hand, a sympathetic look on her face, and took her hand back.

"It's true," she agreed. "And it's not entirely fair. But that's the way it is, so dwelling on it and feeling sorry for yourself won't do any good." He glared at her but she ignored it. "We're nearly done with Hogwarts, Harry. No one's going to care about this whole mess after we graduate. I think what needs to happen now is you need to make a decision."

Harry groaned. "I don't like making decisions. Haven't I proven my worthlessness at making decisions, Hermione?"

"What you need to decide," she continued, ignoring his outburst, "is whether it's worth it to you to try and repair things with Malfoy."

He gaped at her.

"I'm serious, Harry," she said. "You clearly have some really strong feelings for him, and I'm not afraid to admit that my . . . _resistance_to the relationship before did nothing to help you out. Of course, it was born from concern for your other relationship, but I should have listened to you instead of getting angry."

"Hermione," he croaked. "I—"

"Now, wait, Harry." She held a hand up to silence him. "You have to think about a few things. First of all, Ron may not see it like I do. He may take a lot of convincing. That has to be taken into account. And the other thing is, well, Malfoy himself. He's got some really serious issues, Harry, which you obviously understand. But if you start a relationship with him, you have to be aware of the fact that, once we're out of Hogwarts, those issues are still going to be around, and if you're his boyfriend, it's something you're going to have to continue to deal with. He's a fragile person, and while I may not be fond of him myself at this point, I certainly don't think anyone deserves what you did to him, or to suffer through a disorder like his."

Harry's cheeks were on fire. He dropped his head, ashamed of himself. It was one thing to know how horrible he was for doing what he did to Draco. It was another to hear it out of Hermione wise mouth.

"Having said that," she continued, "I don't think you'd do anything like that again. I know you're a good person, Harry. You're one of the kindest, bravest people I've ever met in my life, and I know you didn't hurt anyone intentionally. Now that you see what happened, I can confidently say I think you'd do anything in your power to prevent it from happening again.

"Now." Once again she reached across the table and took Harry's hand in both of hers, tugging a bit to get him to look up at her. "Am I correct in assuming you _do_want to get back together with Malfoy?"

Harry couldn't seem to find his voice, so he merely nodded.

"I don't know him very well at all, so I don't know what he'll respond to, but I think the first thing that should happen is you need to get him alone after classes tomorrow, or during a break, or lunch, or something, and you need to try to talk to him. Lay your feelings on the table, you know? Tell him you care about him, and that you made a mistake. Try to explain why you did what you did."

"And you don't think it's . . . terrible of me to get back together with him after what I did to Anthony?"

Hermione shrugged, looking hesitant. It made Harry's stomach churn.

"It's not exactly admirable, but then again, sometimes that's the way the world works. You can't please everybody. And at this point, I would say Anthony is a lot better equipped to handle the situation than Malfoy is." She looked away then and Harry saw her start picking at her fingernails. "I've noticed, you know. Malfoy. When you two were . . . were together all the time, he showed up at meals more often. He hasn't been to one in a while."

"I know," Harry whispered. "It makes me sick. And it's my fault."

"It's not your fault, Harry," Hermione said softly. He looked at her skeptically. "I mean, yes, you may have contributed, but it's not _your_ fault. Besides, is he worse than he was _before_you started talking to him?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really know, I never paid too much attention to him before. But I think . . ." He sighed, ran a hand through his sweaty hair and pressed his palm against the scar on his forehead. "I think it's worse now, yeah. He's got heartbreak on top of everything this time, you know?"

Hermione nodded sadly. "Yeah," she said. "Well, that's even more reason for you to give this a shot, right? You were clearly helping him, and he needs help. It's really horrible to watch."

"Tell me about it," he grumbled. He squeezed Hermione's hands, still encasing one of his own, and met her eyes. "It's strange, though, because I _know_how bad it looks, but I still think he's so . . . beautiful." Harry's cheeks bloomed red in the face of admitting this to Hermione, but she smiled, and it caused one of his own to lift the corners of his mouth. "If he could just get over this eating disorder, he would be incredible. And he was starting to, he was making such good progress, and I've ruined it all."

"It's gonna take a lot of time and effort," Hermione told him gently. "Assuming he'll give forgiving you a chance, everyone's going to have to work really hard to help him, and he's going to have to work hard to help himself."

"Everyone . . . ?"

Hermione smiled shyly. "Harry," she said, eyes dancing with affection, "you know I'll help if he means that much to you."

Very suddenly, all the tears from before came back, gushing down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. Harry stood up and went to the other side of the table, scooping Hermione up in a giant hug and burying his face in her familiar, bushy brown hair. He heard her squeak in surprise before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him more tightly against her.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he whispered. Hermione's fingers dig into his back.

"It's always nice to hear," she said. " And I love you too, Harry. I'm sorry this happened. I promise I'll help you fix it."

Harry's heart clenched in his chest. He held onto Hermione for dear life, thanking Merlin he'd found this wonderful girl. He knew this conversation was far from over, but the knot in his stomach had loosened the teeniest, tiniest bit, and he felt hopeful. Telling Ron was going to be a project, and the thought of talking to Draco felt like the scariest thing in the world, but he was determined now. He had Hermione on his side, helping him along, and really, what more could someone ask for?


End file.
